


So Nothing's Left Unturned

by nubianamy, penthea



Series: Infinite Pairs of Matching Opposites [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Cycling, Dom/sub Undertones, Family Drama, Friendship, Future Fic, Insecurity, M/M, Martial Arts, Mathematics, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 124,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/penthea/pseuds/penthea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Karofsky is a lonely doctoral student who spends most of his time with his cat. Guess who shows up in his Introduction to Higher Mathematics class? Puck/Dave. Warnings for low self-esteem, math geekery and eventual happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now that Gold Mine has concluded, I have been missing this pairing. So after falling in love with Penthea's Puck/Dave in "Set Right What Once Went Wrong," I begged her to write a Puck/Dave with me. Lucky for me, she agreed, because her Dave is absolutely spot on. Thanks to Penthea for knowing about math and cycling, and letting me take care of the karate and cats.
> 
> Music is a huge part of my writing. You can find our respective playlists for this fic here:  
> Penthea: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFED5A810B49C265B  
> nubianamy: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL42E8082368CC3F7C
> 
> The title is from the song "Flaws" by Bastille; it is now the quintessential Puck/Dave anthem. Really. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgITTJCESAw
> 
> Enjoy!  
> -amy

 

"Dude, watch the coffee." Dave gave Pascal an annoyed look. "I have enough to worry about without you going around knocking stuff over with your big furry paws."

Pascal tilted his head at him.

"Yeah, okay, you're all lithe and gorgeous and shit. Sorry. Jeez, you're worse than Kurt." Pascal jumped down to join him on the couch. Dave took that as an apology.

"So, like I was telling you, this guy Roger, right? He asked me to go for a ride with him, and I was pretty sure he meant like, as a date. Yeah, yeah, I know."

Pascal wound around his leg and stropped his knee with his soft face. Dave scratched him idly on the chin, frowning.

"And I knew he was pretty hardcore about his philosophy, right, but you know I can't deal with that hipster shit. It's like all of a sudden I'm a traitor for having a freewheel on  _one_  of my bikes. Just because he used to be a messenger for, like, three months in freaking Columbus. But, I thought, okay, sure, I can get out the fixie and pretend to be cool and watch him do stupid tricks for a while. He was cute."

Pascal pulled away.

"Not cuter than you, though, don't worry." He scratched him some more to reinforce the message.

"And you'd never judge me for not being vegan, would you? No, I didn't think so. I don't even think they make vegan cat food. So it's probably good it didn't work out with Roger, don't you think?"

Pascal jumped up and laid down in Dave's lap. "Yeah, I knew you'd see it that way." He leaned carefully forward to avoid squashing his best friend while picking up his coffee.

The Times crossword was already half done. Dave had no trouble with Wednesdays anymore. When he'd started he could barely complete a Tuesday in one sitting, but now he knew the tricks. He could even do a Friday with some assistance from his fellow doctoral students. If he sat around in the grad student lounge for a while, he usually managed to run into someone who could help him fill in the blanks. At home, though, he just had Pascal. And he wasn't much help.

"Eleven letter word for being left behind?" he said, raising an eyebrow. Pascal chirped at him and rolled his head upside down to regard him from one blue eye.

"Thanks." Dave carefully wrote in the word ABANDONMENT. He didn't even use pencil anymore. It was a reasonable risk to fill in each box with pen. Nobody knew how many guesses he had to make, or complained when he wrote over a box twice.

* * *

Dave left his advisor's office feeling better. It was nice to have someone telling him exactly what he needed to do differently. It was even a sort of security that came from being told his work was unacceptable and needed to be done again from scratch, because at least then he knew that he could trust that person to tell the truth. It made the compliments mean something, later.

He was actually good at this. Good enough to get to stay, good enough to be worth encouraging. He had barely been able to believe it when one of the professors approached him about teaching a real class, all on his own. But he had to, because they'd asked first. If they didn't actually think he could handle it, they wouldn't have. Would they?

The teaching he'd done before had been fun, and he'd discovered that he liked the challenge of explaining things in a way that somebody else could understand. He'd thought that teaching must be frustrating, and sure, it could be, but it was a huge rush of accomplishment when a concept finally clicked for a student. When his mind wandered in class these days, it was often to imagine how he would do something differently, if he was in charge of the course.

And now he was. He had his very own class. It said so right there on the coursepack: Introduction to Higher Mathematics, D. Karofsky.

Dave walked down the hallway to his classroom, unlocked the door and headed to the front of the empty room. He placed his copy on the textbook on the table, and sat down to look over the notes for his lecture one more time. He was pretty sure he had everything, but it wouldn't hurt to check. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to turn off the sound. It was already off. He put his papers back in order. There were still a few minutes left before any students should start showing up.

He was excited about teaching this course. It would be mostly math majors, real geeks who loved math for itself and didn't argue about whether it was actually useful. Almost all nerdier than him, and probably smarter. He didn't know if he should feel insecure about that, or proud of defying the stereotype. Either way, it was a change from teaching basic algebra to people who didn't get it, probably never would, and were totally okay with that as long as they got their passing grade.

He was so lost in thought he didn't hear the door open, or the sound of footsteps, until he sensed someone standing right in front of him, and heard a guy clearing his throat. Dave looked up.

And  _holy shit,_  it was Noah Puckerman, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other, wearing a polo shirt with "Okinawan Shorin-Ryu Karate" logo on the breast and a wicked grin. Apart from the absence of the mohawk, it was as though no time had passed, between that party at Santana's at the end of junior year, when they'd both gotten shitfaced and done karaoke until 2 am, and this day in Dave's Introduction to Higher Mathematics class, six years later. Dave blinked.

"You're still a regular black coffee guy," said Puck, handing him the cup. He wasn't asking. It was still warm.

"Uh," said Dave.

"Nice to see you,  _teach,"_  he whispered, and gave him a little wave before making his way to an empty desk.

Puck's smile stuck with him long after the lecture had already begun and Puck was in his seat, three rows back and on the aisle. He wasn't a slouch-in-your-seat kind of student anymore, and even though he looked like he could be wearing exactly the same clothes he'd worn in junior year of high school, there was definitely something more mature about him. It might have been the additional lines at the corners of his eyes, or the way he thoughtfully scribbled notes starting at the beginning of the hour. Or maybe he was just doodling, it was hard to tell from where Dave stood.

Dave liked to get some real work done on the first day of class, rather than just giving the syllabus and schedule. Something to catch their interest and get them to think, the actual topic didn't matter so much. This year, he was thinking he would start with some Fibonacci numbers. There was this neat thing you could do by writing them out in a triangle, that made it a lot easier to see where the identities came from. He went to do that on the board, feeling suddenly very self-conscious about turning his back on them.

Well, not them, really. Him. The way they were heating up his neck, Puck's eyes might be emitting some sort of radiation. Something ionizing. Dave kept writing rows of numbers on the board, trying to shake off the distraction.

"Hey, Prof?" The voice wasn't in his head, though it certainly could have been, considering how often he'd imagined it over the past six years. He whipped his head around, still trying to write and pay attention to his class at the same time. Puck was raising his hand. When Dave nodded at him, he lowered it and gestured at the board. "I thought I understood how that triangle thing worked, but maybe I was wrong. Can you explain why there's an eight and a thirteen  _there,_  and a thirty-four  _there?"_

Dave stared at the board. Puck didn't look like he was  _trying_  to be a pain in the ass. He was genuinely confused. No wonder, because Dave had made a simple, stupid mistake. Unless, in the world in which Noah Puckerman liked math and brought Dave Karofsky coffee in the morning, 8+13 actually did equal 34.

"Uh, I was just checking to see if you were paying attention?" Dave gave a little laugh, acknowledging that that excuse was older than all of them combined. Pythagoras had probably used that one when he drew a wrong line in the sand with his stick. And saying it as a joke was just as pathetic, actually, so better to just move on.

"Thank you, uh..." Could he call him Puck in class? Noah? Should he even admit to knowing his name? God, this was awkward, and now he'd paused too long to call him anything at all. He settled for wiping out the wrong number with the back of his hand.

"Right, so can anybody tell me why it should be 21 in that spot, and perhaps if you recognize these numbers from somewhere?"

Puck was the first to raise his hand. Dave deliberately waited five seconds and called on someone else instead.

The class went decently after that. He finished everything he'd planned with five minutes left of their time. He didn't see the point of dragging it out, so he wrapped it up and invited anyone with further questions to stay.

Puck hung around after everyone else had gone, taking his time packing up his belongings. He already had his textbook, and his coursepack was tabbed and Dave thought he even saw some highlighting in there.

"So what are the odds, huh?" Puck said, grinning. "I didn't even know you were in Columbus. You're not a professor yet, are you? I don't have to call you Dr. Dave or anything?"

"Ah, no, I'm just a grad student. If all goes well, I'll be Dr. Dave eventually, but for now I'm fine with just Dave."

"Congratulations, man," Puck said, and he actually looked kind of admiring.

And that made no sense at all, did it? Since when was Puck the kind of guy to be impressed by a doctorate? He'd thought he cared more about things like nice abs or guitar solos, neither of which were really Dave's area. But then he hadn't expected Puck to want to learn higher mathematics, either, and yet here he was.

"Thanks," said Dave. "It's not exactly what I imagined myself doing, but... I like it. And you? I didn't even know you went here. I definitely didn't expect you to be a math major." He smiled, perhaps to soften the blow. He didn't like it when people assumed he was stupid just because he could open the door to the auditorium without straining, and now he was doing the same thing to Puck. Even if there were a few other things affecting his judgement, too.

"Not a math major." Puck couldn't disguise his smirk. "Just digging the math. And talk about a surprise. I saw your name on the syllabus and thought for sure it was some other Karofsky. But you were always  _good_  at math, so." He tapped Dave's desk. "You got time to drink that coffee with one of your students? We could, you know. Catch up." He looked far too hopeful for Dave to say no.

"Sure. I don't have any meetings or anything right now, so why not?"

He could think of a lot of reasons why not. It was just that none of them were the kind of reasons he could talk about. They walked together into the hall.

"So how is it that you ended up in this class, then? I was pretty sure it was only open to majors."

"Yeah, well." Puck ran a sheepish hand over his neck. "I don't know, but... I took a bunch of classes over the past few years, night classes mostly - trying to finish those gen eds. I needed the math for my business. But - it was pretty crazy - I read this book with my sister a couple years ago.  _The Number Devil._  You read it? It's about this kid who hates math, and he has dreams about this little demonic figure who teaches him all kinds of shit about number patterns. Sarah thought it was okay, but I completely ate it up." He held open the door for Dave as they exited the building, navigating around two bicyclists and a jogger with a dog. Puck pointed across the street to the coffee shop on the corner, and Dave nodded acquiescence.

"I discovered I really  _like_  math. Like, just because." He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. His eyes were exactly that crazy brown-green-gold color he'd remembered from middle school.  _Funny how things stick with you._  "I can't explain it. I don't actually need to take any more for my degree. But I figured this class would be a chance to talk about it with people who get that math is more than just, like, adding numbers together."

A little bit of Dave had been wondering if Puck had shown up in his class just to - well, he didn't know why, but for some Puck-like reason to do with Dave rather than the material of the course. But hearing him talk about math like that was convincing. Although - had that been a reference to his mistake earlier? He felt himself starting to flush, and changed the subject.

"Wait, you have a business?"

"Yeah - the dojo. It's down on South McDonel in Lima. That's me. Sensei Puckerman." He turned to show Dave the larger logo on the back of his shirt. Dave did  _not_  notice the way Puck's shoulder muscles moved under the cotton fabric. "I've got a staff of three and we barely make our rent payments each month, but it's a living. Not to mention pretty awesome to show up to work in shorts and a t-shirt." Puck held up a hand, measuring from the floor. "And my youngest student is about this tall and calls me Thenthai. Now  _that's_  awesome."

He ordered a double decaf espresso, which seemed like a pretty pointless thing to Dave, but he wasn't going to harass Puck about it. They'd never been friends, not even back in seventh grade at Finn's birthday party, but somehow this felt like the kind of thing friends might do. Come to think of it, it'd been a while since Dave had done something friend-like with  _anyone._

"So when you're not teaching math class, Dr. Dave, what are you up to?" Puck pulled a chair out and sat backwards on it, setting his cup of useless coffee on the table.

Dave kind of hated that question, because it highlighted everything that was wrong with his life, and everything that was wrong with him for that matter. Because the truth was, whenever he wasn't reading about math, or writing about math, or thinking about it... there wasn't a lot of time left, actually. But there was more than he liked to admit. And he mostly spent it with his cat.

"I, uh, read? And ride my bike." Both were kind of sad, but he figured at least less so than hanging out with a Burmese named after the same 17th century dude as the topic of today's lecture.

"Sounds like a freewheeling life of excitement." Puck added another creamer to his espresso and stirred. "You seeing anybody?"

The question was casual enough, but Puck wasn't looking at him. Dave was pretty sure there was no way Puck would have known it had been him at the bar, but he still felt exposed in that moment, as though Puck could take one glance and realize all the secret, hidden things about his life these past six years. It was disconcerting.

"Not currently," Dave said, as evenly as he could. "You?"

"Oh, you know. Here and there. Nothing serious, since Shelby." He shrugged. "We still hang out, though, with Beth. She'll be eight in the spring."

Dave had heard about that, Puck's not-so-covert relationship with Ms. Corcoran. It was a relief to him that Dave's own sexual exploits - if he ever actually managed to  _have_  any, again - could never conclude in an accidental pregnancy. If Dave ever wanted to have kids, he'd have to work for it. He wasn't exactly sure whether he did or not.

"Wow, eight already?" He sipped his rapidly cooling coffee.

"She's in second grade. Loves princesses and singing." He grinned. "And hockey."

Dave was surprised into a laugh. "Awesome."

Puck pushed out his chair and stood, pitching his cup into the garbage can across the room. "I'd better get going. It's a long drive home. See you on Monday, teach."

"See you," echoed Dave. He let Puck walk out the door without following him with his eyes. He didn't want to think about the last time he'd seen Puck's back, or the way he'd reacted - but for better or worse, Noah Puckerman was back in his life, three days a week, for the next four months.

* * *

He had been sitting at his computer, trying to work, but finding himself drawn to the kind of places he'd never admit to going, the kind of thing he'd never bookmark or even visit outside of stealth mode.

Because there was no way he would do that. He wasn't that kind of gay guy. He didn't do the whole glitter and oil and physical perfection thing, or random hookups on the internet. Of course not. But he might take a look. See what was out there. Just to imagine what it would be like. If he were somebody else, with a different life and a different history. Someone who did that.

There were so many boys, and most of them just made him feel kind of sad for them. He kept looking over his shoulder, too, despite being completely alone in his dark apartment. Pascal was sitting on the top of a bookshelf, staring at him reproachfully. Well, actually probably just wondering if he could make the jump to his desk.

He clicked on a picture.

This guy was different. Most people used shots of their abs, taken in the mirror, the other hand holding up their shirt and their face either out of the frame, or hidden by a baseball cap, or washed out by the reflection of a flash. But this was black and white, in a way that seemed genuine, not like it was done with some stupid app, there would have to have been a photographer involved. He was draping his arms over the edge of some sort of bench, shadow and light playing on his muscular arms and shoulders, the contours of his back. His shaved head was bent - in submission to something invisible, in defeat, in rest, there was no way of knowing - but it made Dave want to know. A small scar on the back of his head, another on his side. He'd like to hear that story.

And then the way he wrote - cocky, in contrast to the vulnerability of the pictures. Not great writing, by any means. There were spelling errors. But the guy coming through - Dave thought he might like to know him.

Of course, the fact that someone had a profile on this site was probably a sign that there were issues. But, how would he ever get anywhere if he was going to be picky? He'd tried the low-key mature thing. It hadn't really worked. Desperate? Yes. He was pathetic and desperate, and he might as well own it. Obviously what he really wanted wasn't going to happen, so why deny himself a shot at a little bit of happiness? He started to write a message.

They'd agreed to meet in a bar later that same night, a slightly seedy kind of place but not so bad that he couldn't be seen in there. It had to be fast, or he'd start thinking and it would never happen.

And then he'd walked in, nodding at the bouncers and taking in the place, wondering who might be his guy. He'd seen a shaved head at the bar, the posture over his drink similar enough to the pictures that there was no doubt it was the same guy. But when Dave's heart jumped in his chest, it wasn't with excitement over taking a hot guy home. He recognized that head. He couldn't believe he hadn't before. That scar. He knew exactly where it came from, he'd been there when it happened, holding a bloody sweatshirt and wondering why everything was so quiet while waiting for the ambulance.

He'd touched that head before, in a memory he sometimes wondered if might have been a dream.

Noah. And then Puck.

Dave turned around and left, went straight home to bed, sick with shame.

* * *

Puck had no memories of the actual incident, just newspaper articles and police reports and insurance settlements. And Dave's words, precious few of those.

He remembered up until about two hours before, riding in the back of Scott Cooper's Ford Bronco with Dave Karofsky down to Columbus for the junior hockey playoffs, wailing along to Gnarls Barkley on the radio, entirely sure he was invincible, just like every other eighth grade boy.

He remembered about ten hours after, groggily waking up in the hospital to his mother's insistent voice, telling him  _Noah, you've been in a car accident._ He'd been sure he could make it to the playoffs if he could just get out of this fucking bed and down the stairs. Those must have been some meds they had him on, because he didn't remember any kind of pain those first two nights in the hospital, just a vague sense of outrage that the doctors were cutting into his trip to Columbus for which he'd waited all year.

He remembered the first time they gave him a mirror and let him examine his scar for the first time, and he'd seen his swollen, lumpy, bruised face and thought  _that's not a shape any head should ever be._ He looked something like that elephant man kid from the movie Mask.

The hair had been easy to say goodbye to, that Jewfro he'd never been proud of, and when he grew it back he decided to keep the sides short and try a modified mohawk. It had a badass quality he'd tried to identify with back then in eighth grade. And the scar, well, there  _still_ wasn't anything cooler than that. Forty-seven stitches from a rolled-over Bronco  _was_ something to be proud of.

But the actual acquisition of the scar - he had to believe Dave's description of what had happened, because aside from Scott and his dad, who'd both hit their heads on the windshield and been knocked out for the count, he'd been the only one there. Puck had always had the sneaking suspicion that it was lucky that Dave  _had_  been there, and that he'd been a good Boy Scout and had known his CPR, or else Puck might not have made it out of the Bronco alive. But that was a little melodramatic even for him, so he just kept that thought to himself, and had to relegate his fantasies about Hero Dave giving him mouth-to-mouth to his dreams.

 _You were stuck hanging upside down in your seat belt,_  Dave had said,  _so I pushed the button and let you down. You were bleeding like a fucking stuck pig._  Why people always compared bleeding things to pigs, Puck would never know. He'd only seen pigs at the state fair and had never made one bleed. But he'd seen his clothes days afterwards, saturated and stiff with rusty-brown liquid, and he'd been completely incredulous that that much blood could have come out of his stupid head.

 _I took off my sweatshirt and held it to your head until the ambulance got there,_ Dave had said.  _You were moaning and being a total wuss._ Which Puck believed, knowing how he'd been when he had been hurt or ill in the past.

He wondered sometimes what Dave had said or done when he'd helped him out of his seat belt. Had he held him in his lap? Had he touched his cheek and whispered inane comforting words into his ear? And how fucking  _sick_  was it that Puck sometimes fantasized about those things when he stroked himself to hardness in the early morning hours or in the shower?

Because Puck wasn't desperate, not by any means. He could have any woman, man or farm animal he fucking wanted. Even now, six years after the easy meat market of high school had come to a conclusion, he could have his pick, and usually did.

And if, more than half the time, the guys in his bed bore a striking resemblance to a certain former football right guard, well, that was just a fucking coincidence, wasn't it.

* * *

Sarah's idea of grocery shopping was far more involved than Puck could handle. He just wanted to pick up some milk and juice and bread and peanut butter and be done with it, but Sarah insisted on making lists and organizing them by which store had the best prices. Most of the time Puck just let her handle it.

His Ma was never allowed to do the shopping, because working second shift meant that she mostly ate at the hospital and came home and crashed, so by the time she was off work, she could barely deal with driving home, much less doing price comparisons or using coupons. And Sarah only gave her a limited allowance, anyway, or else she would spend it on cheap vodka and they'd have to eat ramen for the next week.

It was just easier to keep an eye on things with his Ma when he lived at home. Not to mention it made it a hell of a lot easier to keep up with car payments and business expenses. But it played havoc with his sex life, even if Sarah was cool with him bringing home the occasional guy. I mean, who  _really_  was okay with a guy who said  _I still live in my mom's basement_  at twenty-three?

"I'm gonna make lasagna tomorrow," she told him at dinner that Thursday, after classes had started with Dave. He shook his head, bemused.  _Dr. Dave. Fuck me._

"I'll be in Columbus for class," he said, ladling sauce over his chicken. "You'll have to save me some."

"Yeah, what's up with that, anyway?" She wrinkled her nose. "Why go all the way to Columbus for math?"

"It's the only place they're teaching this class." It wasn't exactly true. He could have waited to take it in the spring at the Lima campus - but he wouldn't have had the same teacher.

He didn't look the same, anymore. He was more comfortable in himself. Quieter. But Puck could see the same Dave, inside. There was plenty of Dave to remember, even though they hadn't hardly seen each other since the end of junior year. There was Angry Dave, the guy he'd been freshman and sophomore year, when he and Puck had barely talked at all, and most of the words they'd exchanged had involved yelling. There was Helpful Dave, who'd formed the Bullywhips with Santana and made changes in the way McKinley dealt with student abuse. Then he'd been gone, suddenly absent during senior year, and Puck had only heard from Kurt months after school had started that he'd switched to Lima Senior High Progressive Academy.

And, back before any of that, there was Middle School Dave, who'd played hockey with Noah. Puck's memories of him were pretty specific, and startlingly vivid, but they only really came up in dreams. There wasn't anything he could do to stop them, and they weren't bad memories, not exactly.

Sarah looked at him reproachfully. "You're going to miss some fucking awesome lasagna. I hope it's worth the drive."

 _I hope so too,_  he thought.

* * *

Dave was sitting in his office sort of trying to read but not really getting anywhere, when there was a knock on the door. It was during his posted office hours, so he assumed it must be a student. Before he could tell them to come in, though, the door opened. He almost groaned out loud. Of course it was Puck. Everything he knew about the man, from 5th grade until today, told him that he was nothing if not persistent. Cheerfully, maddeningly so, until he got what he wanted, or decided he didn't care about it after all. If only Dave knew what it was he was after this time.

"Hey, Puck. What can I help you with?" Dave didn't expect whatever it was to be directly related to the class, but he could always hope. Either way, the professional thing would be to pretend.

"I had a question," Puck said, sliding into the chair in front of Dave's desk. "And it's not part of our homework, so I figured I shouldn't annoy the crap out of everybody else in class by asking about it there."

Puck showing up for office hours wasn't a surprise. The surprise was that he showed up with four pages of proofs for last week's homework problem, especially since Dave definitely hadn't asked for a proof in the assignment. He was wearing a tank top, not exactly standard math department attire, and it was hard not to notice the muscles in his arms and shoulders moving as he dug around in his duffel bag for the papers.

When they finally emerged, they were a little crumpled, but quite a lot of work had obviously gone into whatever it was. The equations were readable, even if they sometimes overflowed into the margins or onto the next line. Overall, it was much neater than any of Dave's own notes when he was working on a problem. This looked like a second draft at the very least.

"So let's see what you've got here. Looks like you put some work into this." Dave took the papers and began to read. It started out as more or less the problem that he had set for the class. The difference was, instead of finding the appropriate theorem in the textbook and applying it, it looked like Puck had actually derived the whole thing from scratch. But not in the way that the textbook did it. In the appendix, if he remembered correctly.

"I kind of get started on these things and can't put them down," Puck said, tapping his knee with his pen. "Drives my sister nuts. She just wants me to tell her the freaking  _answer_  and I'm way the fuck off over here, asking more questions."

Dave smiled. "When you get to this point, math isn't really about the numbers anymore. Or at least not about getting a particular number to come out as the answer. Sounds like you're just thinking like a mathematician." He pointed at the page.

"See what you did right here? That's called a proof by induction. You're missing a step, technically, but that's really just a formality. Here." Dave leaned over with a pencil and filled in a line between two of Puck's, then smiled. "This is really good, but you're probably right, you should come to office hours if you want to discuss it. It's a little beyond most of your classmates' level of interest."

Puck shook his head in apparent irritation. "I guess I figured by now, people were taking these kind of classes because they  _like_  what they're doing. But it's not quite like that, is it?"

"Well. I'd say most of them do like the work, but maybe not quite enough to go looking for more. The ones who do tend to end up in the Ph.D program. So, anyway, you wanted to know how there can be more of these when they're both infinite, right?"

Dave pointed at the last of Puck's pages. He was impressed. Puck's intuition was correct, but more importantly, he'd questioned it.

"It's a pretty basic concept, so you don't actually need to prove it every time. I mean, it's not that it's obvious, digging down to the fundamentals can be a lot harder than just using them. But it's on the list of things you can assume." Dave had a feeling Puck had very little idea about what he could assume, working as he seemed to be on raw talent and not a whole lot of reading.

"We'll get to this later in the course, when we talk about infinite sets, but there's a really cool proof called Cantor's diagonal argument. Want me to show it to you now?" Puck looked interested, so he reached for a piece of paper and started writing down rows of numbers.

"So, let's say this is your list of all the numbers between zero and one. It's a really long list, so we'll just write down a little bit of it. And you get to have infinite decimals for each one, too, because if you don't need them they're just all zeroes from here until forever, right?"

Puck gave Dave a frankly admiring smile. It was a little embarrassing to be on the receiving end of a smile like that, especially from  _Puck._  "You're really good at this," he said. "This teaching stuff. And the math, that too."

Dave turned his head to the paper, mostly to hide his face. There was a model-gorgeous guy in his chair, gazing at Dave like he'd invented set theory just for him. And not just any guy. No, it had to be Noah Puckerman, headlining star of his most insistently repressed teenage fantasies. He really didn't know what to do with this.

* * *

Dave carried his road bike down the stairs, the cleated shoes obnoxiously loud on the stone. He still felt like a bit of an idiot and a fraud dressed like this, but it was a nice day and he wanted to get some miles in. Doing that on a fixie, in baggy shorts, wasn't worth the pain. He rolled the bike onto the pavement and got on, making a flashy little jump down from the curb, since nobody was watching.

He rode south for about an hour an a half before turning back towards Columbus. The roads were mostly empty on a Sunday morning, so he let his mind wander while his legs carried him over the slight rolling hills. There was a bit of a headwind, but not enough to make it really hard, and before he knew it he was back in the city.

The dojo had been there for as long as he'd been riding this route, but he'd never really paid attention before. There were usually people doing some sort of karate or something, and he'd glanced through the windows, because they were too big to ignore, but martial arts weren't especially his thing.

Now, though, he found himself wondering if this was the kind of place Puck had, up in Lima. He rolled slowly up to the windows, looking in. He felt a little self-conscious, but he figured they wouldn't have had those big panes of glass if they didn't want people to watch.

It looked like a class was in session, with two guys demonstrating to a group. And - was that really Puck? It sure looked like him. The man turned around. Yes, it was. Dave didn't particularly want to think about how he hadn't needed to see his face to recognize him. He stepped completely off his bike and leaned on the frame, watching.

They were doing some kind of one-on-one fighting, only very, very slowly. Dave could see Puck's mouth moving, explaining, as he flowed through the motions, almost like choreography. He paused to illustrate a point. His audience, assorted height children from elevenish to nearly grown, watched avidly. Then the brawny guy he was fighting - no, not fighting, dancing? acting?  _something_  - with took their positions and - the whirlwind of movement took Dave by surprise, and he caught his breath as Puck was suddenly on the floor.

But then Puck was getting up, smiling, and still talking, and everything seemed to be okay. Maybe that was supposed to happen? Apparently, because they did it again, with exactly the same results. Dave winced as Puck's back hit the mat, hard. He didn't seem to care, though. His partner reached down and helped him up with one casual arm. Dave didn't much like the way the guy was looking at him, though. It was far too familiar.

Then Puck glanced toward the window, and Dave froze as Puck caught his eye. The pleased smile that broke across Puck's face was even more of a surprise than finding Puck here at all. For a moment Dave wondered wildly if he could make it back onto his bike and down the street before - but no. That was a stupid idea. He'd see Puck tomorrow in class, anyway. There was no point in trying to avoid him here. Puck gave him a little wave, and Dave, feeling like an idiot, waved back.

And then he pretty much had to go inside. He couldn't leave his bike alone, so he carried it through the door and into the room, not wanting to leave road dirt on the mats covering the floor from wall to wall. It was warm, not steamy hot, but hazy with the miasma of sweat and guy-smell that permeated most exercise rooms. He watched as Puck and the bigger instructor split the class up into groups and had them reenacting, with varying levels of accuracy, the routine they'd just demonstrated. Once everybody was in action, Puck came over to Dave.

"Why did I get the idea that you lived in Lima?" Dave said.

"I do," Puck said, grinning. "It's just easier for me to drive down on Sundays than it is for me to get up in the morning on Monday and get here on time for class. Not a morning person, yo."

"You have a place to stay?" Dave asked, and then wished he hadn't. It was none of his business, and sounded way too much like he was making an offer. Which he wasn't. Of course Puck wouldn't want that.

But Puck was nodding. "Yeah - I stay at Connor's." He jerked a thumb at the bigger instructor, who was watching them with a curious smile. "He's our lead singer."

"Your - you have a band?"

"Me and Finn and Connor, and this girl, Nicole. She plays bass. It's nothing major." He leaned in, almost conspiratorially, and Dave found himself leaning in to listen. "It was, like, three years after high school was over, and I just woke up one day and realized I hadn't picked up my guitar in over eight months. And that really  _sucked._  So I started a band."

It was just the sort of thing Puck would do, too. He wanted a band? He started one. Wanted to learn about math? He just did it. He pretty much  _went for_  whatever it was he wanted.

Suddenly Dave was hit with a intense, full-sensory memory of a time - ten years ago, to be exact - when Puck had done precisely that, had  _gone for_ something he'd wanted. And Dave had been kind of shocked to discover just how much he'd wanted it, too.

Some of the memory must have shown on Dave's face before he managed to cover it up, because Puck's expression changed from an ordinary friendly one to something far more confusing and intimate, and Dave was  _not_  going there in the middle of this public space. Or at all. Dave turned away to watch the kids throwing punches and kicks and knocking each other on the floor with fierce concentration.

"This isn't your dojo," Dave said, just to say  _something,_  to get the memory out of his head and back into his subconscious where it belonged.

"No, it's Connor's. We teach the same style of karate, Shorin-Ryu. I'm just bogarting his training space while I'm in town, mostly. These are his kids." The way Puck looked at them, though, with that proud, satisfied expression that Dave ascribed to teachers everywhere, told him he could just as easily have been leading this class.

"They look good," he said, and Puck turned that fucking brilliant smile on him, the one he'd seen just the other day in office hours. It made Dave want to squint and shield himself from its glare.

"Thanks." Puck shrugged out of his gi top and discarded it on the bench, rolling his shoulders. He had a embarrassingly dark hickey on his neck, peeking out from his shirt collar. Dave didn't want to ask  _dude, didn't that hurt?_  but he had a hard time imagining that it hadn't. He wasn't going to ask. He was going to stop thinking about it.

"Hey," Puck said, "you want to have dinner tonight? I mean, if you're not busy."

Before Dave could even formulate an answer to this absurd question, the instructor was there next to him, holding out a hand for Dave to shake. "Hey - I'm Connor. You must be Puck's math teacher." Dave fumbled to get the shoes and helmet he was still holding to fit in one hand, so he could take Connor's. At least the other man was just as sweaty as he was.

"Guilty as charged," he said, kind of surprised that Puck had mentioned him, and that he'd be identified as such in his cyclist garb. "Your kids look like they know what they're doing."

"Sometimes." Connor smiled, lighting up an otherwise ordinary face. "When they're not being entirely too focused on impressing their friends." He glanced at Puck, and his cheeks went red. "Uh, you should probably -" he said, touching his own neck where Puck's hickey was showing.

Puck touched his neck in response, then grinned at Connor. "Oh - my bad. Thanks." He reached for his gi top again and refastened it around his waist, tying the black belt on top of that. "So. Dinner?"

Dave's first instinct was to say no, but how? The question was already so fraught with dangerous implications. He felt caught by the expectation of answering it in front of this unfamiliar man. No matter how friendly his smile was, Dave had no idea who Connor was to Puck, or what he needed to be careful about implying. He hesitated.

"It's no big deal, if you're busy," Puck added, but Dave, former Boy Scout and unflinchingly honest most of the time, found himself shaking his head.

"No, no, I'm not busy." He sighed. "Sure. Dinner." He didn't look at Connor, or think about the appraising expression on his face. Was Dave stealing Puck's time away from this guy? Was he annoyed? Or worse, amused, wondering what his friend was doing with some math-teaching, ridiculous lycra diaper shorts-wearing freak? Yeah, not thinking about it. Puck had asked, he'd said yes. "I need to finish my ride, but I can meet you somewhere. Did you have a place in mind?"

They decided on an Indian restaurant around the corner, and Dave left Puck to finish his class.

It wasn't very far to go back to his place, but he hammered it, racing cars out from the stoplights if there happened to be one next to him. When he got home, sooner than he would have liked, he was breathing hard and feeling the burn a little in his legs. He probably ought to have cooled down, but who cared; it wasn't like he was training for the Tour de France or anything.

Dave took off his shoes and walked into the kitchen to get some water. He had to start getting ready for his dinner with Puck, but he never took very long to get ready for anything, and there was no point getting in the shower right away when he'd been riding so hard. He'd just end up hot and sweaty again, so he finished his glass of water and stretched his quads and hamstrings for a couple of minutes first.

Dinner with Puck. What would he wear? And, God, since when was he such a girl? He was pretty sure pants were non-negotiable, which probably meant jeans. He'd wear his good pair, the one that fit just loosely enough to make him feel a little better about himself without making him look like a slob. His favorite T-shirt - no, he'd worn that a couple of days ago, it was still in the hamper. He considered fishing it out and smelling it to see if it might still be wearable, but that was too pathetic even for him. The blue one, maybe, if he had a button-down over it? Dave sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face with both hands.

Pascal rubbed against his leg and meowed insistently.

"No, I know it's not a date." He gave himself a good figurative shake. "It's just two guys, having dinner."

In the spirit of two guys, both of whom who happened to like guys, hanging out for dinner, Dave picked out a regular old t-shirt, one he didn't even like all that much, but it was clean, and it might make his arms look pretty good, but whatever.

And because it was just two guys - who might have had some kind of nebulous moment together once, but the other guy probably didn't even  _remember_  it, and it was so long ago and they had been such  _kids,_  he could scarcely count it as a moment, even if it had been -

Maybe he needed another bike ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Dave thought about not showing up at all, but in the end, that would have just been rude. So he settled on ten minutes late. Puck didn't even seem to notice.

He hadn't dressed up either, which didn't make Dave feel any better, because face it, Puck could make a burlap sack look sexy if he put on that smirk and flexed his arms the right way. He was wearing a shirt with a collar, though, so at least Dave didn't have to stare at the hickey all night.

"Thanks," he said as Dave pulled out his chair. "For this. You saved me from another night of Kraft dinner and Jeopardy reruns with Connor."

"The life of a single guy," said Dave sympathetically, not mentioning how many evenings he himself had spent with Alex Trebek and a bowl of mac & cheese.

"Kind of. I mean, we dated for a while, but yeah. I don't think either of us would consider the other anything more than a friend. Or a convenience, at most." Puck shrugged as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world, to have a  _friend_  with whom you did  _convenient_  things. Dave couldn't fathom it - although that didn't stop him from trying. He wondered uneasily about the source of the hickey. Had that been  _convenient?_

"But he's a good guy, and he's got a pretty awesome tenor. The four of us hanging out, making music, is freaking hilarious. And it's nice to have a guy to bounce ideas off when it comes to teaching." He smiled, handing Dave the bowl of papadam. "Half the time I feel like I'm a total fraud, taking people's money and promising them some kind of education in return. As if I know what the hell I'm doing."

Dave knew exactly,  _exactly_  what that felt like, but he was entirely too distracted by the brush of Puck's fingers against his as he took the bowl, and by the time he recovered, Puck was already saying more words.  _Jesus, did this guy ever shut up?_

"I guess that's why we went out. We had a lot in common. And, well - hot." Was that a  _blush?_  Dave didn't buy it. Because, even if Connor was pretty good-looking, he wasn't anywhere in the realm of Puckerman gorgeous. He munched on a papadam, wondering why, if Puck and Connor had so much in common, and Puck thought he was  _hot -_ and he was  _convenient -_ he still considered himself single. It wasn't the kind of question you asked, if you were two guys hanging out at dinner.

"So what do you like?"

Dave nearly panicked at this question, rolling across the table like a line out of one of Dave's far-too detailed fantasies, before he realized Puck was pointing at the menu. He raised an eyebrow. "You like it hot?"

"Medium," Dave managed. "Not... not too hot."

Puck nodded, perusing the choices. "You want to share?"

Dave did. They both liked curry, it turned out, so that was easy, and rogan josh once Puck had informed Dave that he was the kind of Jew that ate regular, non-kosher lamb. "And bacon," he added, with a grin. "Not to mention the piercing. I'm kind of a rule-breaker."

Ah, yes. The piercing. That Dave was not going to mention, or even think about, because it  _really, truly_  made him shudder to think about -

"After that guy ripped out the first one in juvie, I had it repierced on the other side," Puck said, and Dave tried hard not to wince. He touched his chest, casually. Dave averted his eyes.

He didn't get why people would deliberately go and seek out things that hurt. Like there wasn't enough of that in the world without having to go looking for it.

"That must have been painful."

"Hmmm? The piercing? Oh... no, that was fine. But juvie sucked." He crunched on another papadam. "It was the scariest thing I've ever done. Kind of got me to clean up my act, though. I don't like to think about the kind of guy I might have become if I hadn't gone."

Dave thought about it. He couldn't imagine going to juvie, though he'd come closer than he liked to think about. Making him a better person? He thought if something like that happened to him, it would have just pushed him over the edge of no return. And that scared him. But maybe it wouldn't have been like that. Maybe once he'd have been there, and got punished for what he'd done, he could have gotten over it.

More words were coming. Dave tried to listen to all of them, but it was like a flood of revelations, and he wasn't quite ready to hear all of it. "I think it made me brave enough to go to Okinawa, though. After growing up in one town my whole life, flying across the world and spending a year in another country - especially one where I didn't speak the language - should have been a lot scarier." He smiled at Dave, and it was warm and honest and absolutely terrifying. "But I had a great time. And I learned a ton about myself. I guess coming back to Small Town USA wasn't so bad, after that."

Dave was lost in thought about that for long enough that he didn't notice until Puck was waving the wine and beer list in front of him. "You want a bottle of something?"

Dave considered it. "Yeah, sure." He didn't think he had to worry about getting too drunk, and a little bit of alcohol might make this not quite as hard. He had enough inhibitions that losing a few wouldn't be a big deal. Puck might not even notice.

Puck ordered a Barley's, one of the less disgusting local microbrews, just as they brought an order of naan. Dave asked for the same. He hadn't realized Puck had ordered the bread, but he accepted a small piece when Puck tore a piece in half and handed it to him. He didn't want to say anything about watching his carbs in front of Puck, who seemed to still have the metabolism of a hummingbird. And he'd done almost 60 miles today, so it was probably fine.

"So, math." Puck gestured with his glass. "How'd you decide on that?"

"Um, well. It just sort of happened, I think. When I didn't have football anymore. It was the only other thing I could think of that I was sort of good at."

"Yeah, you are," Puck said, with far more enthusiasm than Dave thought it warranted.

"Thanks. I'm not like some of the other guys, though. I mean, I'm not a genius, I'm just regular smart." There were other grad students that scared him, their brains were such a completely different world. He thought Puck had a little bit of that, actually, a piece of that other brilliance stuck inside a Lima football player.

"Trust me. Regular smart is plenty. You always did pretty well in school. I remember." Puck's mouth made a rueful shape, and he rubbed his chin. "I spent most of high school avoiding class. It's freaking amazing I graduated at all."

"You're not stupid, though. You just don't have a high school type of brain." He looked at Puck, hoping he believed that. He didn't seem too upset by the conversation, but Dave wanted to make sure Puck knew  _he_  didn't think so. Puck shrugged again.

"Maybe. I've always had a hard time with writing, and reading's still a pain. I get by okay, but I'll never be Doctor Puckerman or anything."

"You don't have to, though. You won't believe how much the math faculty can't spell. Our newsletters are terrible."

Puck laughed, and he touched Dave's hand across the table, just a little bump with his knuckles. It startled Dave enough that he almost dropped his beer. "Well, I'll fit in just fine, then. I get my sister to proofread the dojo's web page before it goes up."

Dave wasn't sure what to do with his hand. Moving it would mean acknowledging what just happened, but leaving it there might seem like he wanted it to happen again.

"Maybe you should stay where you are. You were great with those kids today, I'd hate to see them lose you. I mean, not that we wouldn't love to have you, but there's a lot of guys out there who can do math." He smiled. "If you missed it too much, I'd be fine with letting you do my homework. Maybe write a few papers, too, when you got some more practice."

He snapped his mouth shut. This was why he needed to think before he spoke. He hoped his thoughts didn't show on his face and that Puck hadn't noticed what he'd just implied, because wow, that was kind of heavy for just two guys having dinner.

And the worst part was how much he suddenly realized he wanted it.

He wanted someone to come home to, someone to sit with him and Pascal on the couch while he read or graded student papers. It didn't even have to be Puck, maybe, though in the rush of images that had occupied his head, it was. And what did it mean that it hit him so hard now, sitting here with Puck, rather than on any of his actual dates?

"You'd let me do that?" Puck raised one of those dangerous eyebrows at him. "Gosh, I don't know anybody who'd trust me that much. I think there's a pretty good chance I'd mess it up." Puck didn't seem too concerned about this idea, though. As though messing up were not such a big deal.

"You'd be fine. You have way more talent than me."

At least Puck seemed to be talking about the homework part. And friends did each others' homework, didn't they? He'd been doing math assignments for half the hockey team in high school. Maybe the rest of it was really just in his head.

Puck was staring at him like he had grown a second one. "What?"

Dave jumped a little, suspecting for a moment that Puck had somehow read his mind. Then he got it.

"I mean, with math. Some of the things you showed me...I mean, sure I could understand them, but I would have had to read it somewhere first. And you just did it, all by yourself, without even knowing for sure it could be done. That's what really makes someone good at math. The creativity."

Puck took a drink of his beer. He didn't say anything for a long time after that. Dave thought maybe he hadn't heard him.

"I'm not really good at much," said Puck. "It's kind of... well. I have a hard time believing that. What you said."

Dave stared at him. Puck, not good at much? As far as he could tell, Puck could do pretty much anything he decided to do.

"It's true. And it's not just that, is it? You write music. You're a really talented athlete. Do you think just any twenty-three year old would have his own business, and a band, and take advanced math classes on the side?"

Puck shook his head, like he had an annoying sound in his ear. "No - that's just what I had to do. I didn't do the college thing, so I had to figure  _something_  out." He opened a second beer and set it in front of Dave. Dave was about to object before he realized he was already finished with his first. "None of that stuff really matters. I mean, yeah, I can do math. So what? It's not going to change the world."

Dave shrugged. "I guess." Puck was probably right, none of what they did was actually that important. "What you do with your students, though. I mean, it's not the world, but I bet you change Lima, for those kids. Don't you remember Mr. Iwaniszyn? Our old hockey coach? Don't tell me it made no difference to you that he got up at seven every Saturday to stand in a dark and freezing rink with a bunch of thirteen-year-olds."

Puck picked at his napkin. Dave thought it was perhaps time to do something drastic, like cut his own tongue off with a fork. As awesome as Mr. Iwaniszyn had been, their junior hockey career was an incredibly bad choice of topic.

"I guess..." Puck's gaze was on his hands, but Dave suspected he was seeing something farther away than that. "Yeah, Iwaniszyn was great. I really liked him. But I have a hard time believing that something  _I_  do could mean that much to a kid. Who's going to remember  _me_  in five years?"

Well. Dave, for one, but he didn't think that was what Puck wanted to hear.

"You never know, I guess. What stupid little thing is going to stick with someone." He privately thought that Puck was a lot more memorable than he gave himself credit for, but he had no idea how to tell him that without sounding either patronizing or like a kid with an unfortunate crush on his teacher.

He did  _not_  tell Puck that, if nothing else, he was sure a good portion of his students would remember him as the man they were half in love with when they were twelve. You didn't forget the first guy you ever... luckily, they weren't talking about that. See, even after two beers, he was getting better at controlling his tongue.

"Anyway, like you said, we have to do something, right? Maybe it's not exactly what we dreamed about, but, hey, when I was a kid I thought driving the garbage truck would be the coolest job ever. Things change."

And then some things really, really didn't.

Puck was still stuck looking at his hands. And then he grinned. "Driving a garbage truck actually sounds pretty awesome."

"Yeah, no, I'm not knocking the garbage truck." Dave smiled back at him. "Was that your childhood dream, too, or did you have bigger aspirations? Fireman? Train driver?"

"Heh. Rock star, definitely. My dad... well." Puck tossed down the last of his second beer - how did he finish it so quickly? - and grimaced. "I don't have much good to say about him, but he definitely inspired me to play the guitar. I used to want to be just like him." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, that was before I knew what a prick he was."

If there was a right way to respond to something like that, he didn't know about it. The silence dragged on, and Dave thought very soon Puck would feel like he had to fill it and his moment to say something would be gone.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry your dad was a prick. And I'm really happy that you decided not to be."

He didn't want to know what Puck might decide to tell him if he didn't keep talking, so he continued.

"Anyway, rock star is technically still an option, right? Because I'm pretty sure I would have known about it if your dad had actually been one."

Puck shook his head. "I don't think he did anything worthwhile, really. I remember him playing a lot with friends in our family room when I was little, and then there was a lot of drinking and yelling and then he took off. Thank God. Sarah was only three." He ran a hand over his buzz cut. Dave couldn't help but wonder if it was still as soft as it had been the last time he'd touched it. He wasn't going to touch it. He wasn't.

"I look at my life now and how freaking much it reminds me of how he was, before things got bad. And I can't help but wonder, if I'm going to end up like him."

Then Puck seemed to break out of his trance, and he looked up and saw Dave staring at him. He laughed, embarrassed. "Sorry. I get kind of self-absorbed. You want some of this curry?"

"Sure, thanks." He didn't really, but he felt bad for needing Puck to save the conversation, when he was the one who should have been able to deal with it.

They ate in silence for a while. The rogan josh was just a little too spicy, but Dave with two beers in him didn't mind, and when Puck ordered a third round, he didn't question it. To tell the truth, he barely felt the alcohol at all. He sometimes felt self-conscious about eating or drinking more than the people around him, but Puck was getting another too, so that was fine.

"All right, I have a confession."

Oh, so now he decided to warn him. Considering how freely Puck had confessed to a lot of things already, Dave was a little worried, but he tried not to let it show.

"Oh, really?"

Puck was grinning. "I have a weakness for gulab jamun, but I totally don't need the empty calories. You want to share one?"

Dave laughed. Okay, that he could handle, though the mention of empty calories made his stomach drop a little. He wasn't going to confess that to Puck, though, and he liked the idea of sharing a dessert. More than that, he didn't want to tell Puck no. "Yeah, okay. I don't think I've ever had that before, but I trust you."

"You're going to love it," Puck assured him, pushing his chair out. "It's completely sugary and awesome."

Puck went up to the counter to order while Dave scooped the leftover rice and dishes into two containers. There was a little bit left of everything, and he didn't know how to split it into two containers without mixing something that shouldn't be or risking that Puck ended up with something he didn't want or thinking that Dave had taken the biggest part for himself. Or maybe he'd prefer that. Maybe if Dave gave Puck all the food he'd think it was some kind of jab at his eating habits. He didn't get it quite right, but he kind of had to live with it, because moving rice back and forth between the two piles would make him look insane.

The waiter came back with their dessert, and two spoons. "And the check, when you get a minute," said Dave.

"The other gentleman has already paid," the waiter told him.

"But - okay, I'll pay you back later."

"Dude," Puck said, shrugging it off. "I asked  _you_  out. Here, try this." He held out a spoonful of the dessert, which looked like tiny doughnuts soaked in syrup.

Dave started to lean forward to eat it off the spoon, then noticed what he was doing and stopped abruptly. He tried to make the little dead end movement look like something else, anything, but he didn't really think it worked. Whatever, it couldn't be more awkward than actually eating out of Puck's freaking hand. He reached out and took the spoon that Puck was still patiently holding, and lifted it to his mouth, trying his best not to make it look too disgusting.

As soon as he tasted what was on the spoon, though, he forgot about what he looked like eating it. It was just as Puck had promised, unbelievably sweet, possibly sweeter than pure sugar. The first spoonful was amazing, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted another bite.

"I told you, right?" Puck looked smug, and used the other spoon to take a bite of his own. Dave let his eyes linger on the spoon disappearing between Puck's lips, until he noticed Puck watching him, and then he didn't know  _where_  to look. He settled on the take-away containers in front of him.

"So I got this book out of the library last week," Puck said. "I heard about it on NPR - it's called The Mystery of the Aleph? It's totally about math and kabbalah and stuff."

Hadn't Puck just told him about barely being good enough at reading to get through high school? He wasn't sure what kind of book it was, but it didn't sound like something easy.

Puck must have seen the expression on Dave's face, because he held up a hand, as if to ward off his derision. "It's way over my head, mostly, but I recognized that guy's name - Cantor? - from that conversation we had in your office. And I'm kind of interested in the Jewish tradition thing. It's pretty good so far."

Okay, so Puck looking at him like that, and eating dessert in a manner that probably should be regulated, and talking about the philosophy of infinite sets? Dave was only human. He had a breaking point. It was probably his turn to speak, but he wasn't sure he could actually manage a coherent sentence right now. He swallowed.

"Maybe I should read it. Set theory isn't exactly my field, but it's interesting."

Puck gazed at him across the table. "Well... I have it in my truck. If you want, I could bring it over to your house."

"Yes. I mean, if you don't mind, that would be great." Then he shut up, because he wasn't really sure what it was he'd just accepted. Was Puck going to drive the book to his house? Why, when it was right outside in his truck? Or was he really offering Dave a ride home, which he didn't strictly speaking need, seeing as he had his bike waiting outside?

"You're on your bike, right?" Puck didn't look away from him as he stood, snagging the take-away containers from in front of Dave. "I can drive you home, if you want. We can put it in my truck."

"If you're sure it's not too much trouble." He wasn't going to try to figure it out. For once, he'd just go with it and follow Puck's lead.

"No trouble at all, man." He pushed through the door onto the street, stretching his arms over his head like he'd been working out.

Dave tried not to stare. He walked over to where he'd parked his bike, while digging in his pockets for the key to the lock. Puck followed him. After a bit of fumbling, Dave got the lock open. He turned the bike around to walk it back to the truck.

Puck opened the back and helped him lift and slide the bike into the bed of the truck. "You must do a lot of biking," he said. "That's not a regular street bike. Some fancy shit on there."

"Yeah. Well, this is actually not my really fancy one, you saw that one earlier today. This is the fixie, like a track bike? I use it to get around, mostly, and sometimes I just ride it around because it's fun. It's almost like being a kid again."

Puck got into the driver's seat, then reached over and opened the passenger door for Dave from the inside. "Sorry - the handle sticks. Hop in."

"Thanks." Dave climbed in and turned to Puck. "Drive carefully, okay? That's my baby lying back there with no seatbelt on."

Puck reached out and touched Dave's arm. "I promise."

Puck's hand was warm on his skin. As long as he kept looking at him like that, Dave would let him throw his road bike on the truck and go racing down a dirt road. Even if it was a carbon frame. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"You know where to find me if anything goes wrong. So, where to, teach?"

"Take a left at the next light."

Dave guided him through the city back to his house. The garage was detached from the brick building. Puck parked the truck outside, and Dave jumped out to unload his bike.

He pushed the bike towards Puck. It didn't look like it had been too badly damaged by the ride. "Can you hold on to this for me for a minute? I don't have the keys to the garage."

Puck put one hand on the seat, grabbing his backpack with the other, watching Dave unlock and open the front door. He found the garage keys lying where he'd left them, and came back outside to take the bike from Puck. "Thanks." Puck looked like he didn't quite want to let go, or maybe he was just distracted, but either way he wasn't holding on to the handlebars and didn't notice that the front wheel was starting to turn. The bike slipped away and crashed to the ground.

"Oh,  _shit,_  man, I am so sorry," Puck said, stepping back in clear distress. "Did I totally destroy it or what?" He put a hand on Dave's shoulder, peering over him at the bike on the ground.

Dave lifted the bike back up by the frame and looked it over, stroking the aluminum tubes as he dusted it off. It looked okay. "No, it's fine, she can take a hit. Don't worry about it."

Puck's face was suddenly far too close to Dave's, and he jerked back a little. Puck didn't seem concerned. "She?" He smiled. "Yeah. My guitar's a chick, too."

Dave carefully pushed the bike away to get it around Puck, and rolled it over to the garage. When it was safely inside and the door locked, he walked back over to Puck, who was still waiting quietly. "So."

Puck's eyes glittered in the dim light of the street lamp. "So, you going to ask me in, Karofsky, or what?"

Oh. Dave hadn't been sure what Puck actually wanted, if he should just say goodbye or ask for the book or what, and he really didn't want to assume anything or make things really awkward by pushing himself on Puck. But it really sounded like he wanted Dave to invite him in. He grinned.

"Yes. Puck, do you want to come inside?"

"Why, Dave, I'd be thrilled." That was  _definitely_  not flirting. He was smirking and pushing Dave's buttons, but there was  _zero_  flirting going on here, Dave was pretty sure. The problem was that once he accepted that axiom, none of Puck's actions tonight made much sense.

Dave nudged Pascal away from the door as he opened it. "Watch out for the cat. He'll bolt."

Puck threw his backpack on the sofa and crouched down, holding out a hand and waiting for Pascal to come to him, making little clicking noises with his tongue. Pascal paused under the coffee table, then wound his way around each leg and sniffed Puck's hand before rubbing against it. "Pretty boy," Puck crooned, scritching under his chin. Pascal stretched out his neck, squinting his eyes closed in a feline smile and purring loudly.

Dave stood back and watched the Puckerman charm work on his cat. "I think he likes you."

"You're either a cat person or a dog person." Puck grinned up at Dave as Pascal made a little leap with his back legs to rub harder on his finger. "I think you can guess which one I am."

Dave grinned back, remembering one guy in particular who had been so freaked out by Pascal that he hadn't wanted to put his feet on the floor all night. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say cat."

"Such a pretty boy." Puck scooped Pascal up in his hands, lifting him up to his shoulder and scratching his ruff. Pascal looked like he was in heaven, leaning against Puck's neck and stropping him repeatedly. Puck didn't seem put off by the wads of cream-colored fur that Pascal was shedding. He glanced at Dave in amusement. "Apparently I'm his, now."

Puck's matter of fact declaration might have short circuited Dave's brain, because nothing made sense any more. Nothing.

He casually reached down with his hand and let Pascal spill out onto the couch, brushing stray cat hairs off his hands against his jeans. "I've got that book in my bag," he said, "if you want to see it."

Book? Oh, right, the reason Puck was here in the first place. The book. That Puck was reading of his own free will about the history of a mathematical theory. There went his brain again.

"Uh."

He did want that book, but it wasn't exactly the most important thing on his mind right now. Much less so than figuring out if there was any possible way that Puck really meant to do what Dave thought he might be doing. What, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he really, really wanted him to do.

Puck touched his bag, then looked back at Dave, moving toward him slowly and deliberately. Dave took a step back. "Or we could wait. Look at it another time. Maybe tomorrow."

Dave forced himself to stop backing away. He took a tiny step forward, putting himself back in the place he had been a second ago. Puck was close enough that if Dave reached out just a little, he could easily have touched him. Just the theoretical possibility was enough to make his heart beat hard all the way up in his throat.

"We could. Do that. If you want."

And then Puck  _did_  touch him, just reached out and put a hand on his chest, stroking lightly. It was enough to send him into a catatonic state, but Dave resisted, shuddering, and made himself keep his eyes open and focused on Puck. Who knew when he might ever,  _ever_ get this chance again, and he wasn't going to miss any bit of it.

"You know," Puck said, his voice soft and intimate, "watching you teach on Thursday. That was pretty hot."

"Yeah?" Dave's voice had gone, too, making the word barely more than a breath.

"Yeah." His hand ghosted over Dave's neck and curled around the back of his head, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. Puck's head tipped, watching Dave's stunned response with apparent satisfaction. "Mmmm. Dr. Dave. Never think I had quite that fantasy before, but...  _hell,_  yeah."

And, okay, he got it. The world had stopped working the way it had yesterday, and there was no point in trying to play by the old rules. Puck was here, and he wasn't going to think about the consequences anymore. He lifted his hand and ran it lightly over Puck's head. It really was just as soft as he remembered. Puck leaned into his touch, making a low appreciative sound that was far too sexy for Dave's living room.

Dave dropped his hands from Puck's head and placed them on his shoulders instead. It was a strange feeling. The last time he'd really touched Puck, he'd still been a 12-year-old boy. He'd seen Puck's broad shoulders and arms, of course, he'd looked more than he cared to admit, but that wasn't the same as feeling them under his hands.

Puck's sigh dug into Dave's skin, and he slipped his hands under Dave's arms and wrapped them around his back, crushing their chests together. It was too much. It wasn't nearly enough. Dave opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

"This is okay, then?" Puck said, his gaze flickering across his face, down to his lips, and back again to look into his eyes. He didn't look like he was joking anymore. "You want this?"

This was so many things, but okay wasn't really a word he'd choose to describe it. Puck's second question, though, that he could answer. It didn't even really matter what  _this_  was; if Puck was asking, he wanted it. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I do."

Puck's slow smile curved his lips up at the corners, but Dave couldn't look anywhere past the center, between his lips, where his tongue was resting, just waiting there. He might say anything. He might say,  _get the fuck away from me, Karofsky. What the hell?_  Or maybe he might say,  _ha, got you._

Or he might do what he did, which was pull Dave close enough for Dave to feel his warm breath on his cheek, and press their lips together, his tongue seeking entry. Dave let him in with a strangled moan, and he tasted Puck's mouth for the first time in ten years.

"Oh my god," he muttered, before he even realized he was saying it. Dave's nerves all along the front of his body, where Puck's chest and stomach and regions below that were touching, were on fire. He wasn't sure if he could tolerate being this close and not feeling his skin.

"Tell me about it," Puck breathed, with a little chuckle. His mouth moved to Dave's neck, tracing tendrils of heat along the line of his jaw, across to his ear. "You feel incredible."

It had been long enough that Dave had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold another person in his arms, what it was like to push his body against someone and feel him pushing back. But Dave was pretty sure that he'd never felt a person like  _this_  before, not ever, not even back in seventh grade. Puck was firm in all the right spots - all of them. And wasn't that an old fantasy: that Dave Karofsky could get Noah Puckerman hard. Dave's hips bucked against Puck's all of their own accord, making him gasp and shake to his core.

"Yeah, I feel you," Puck said, low and delighted. His hand came down Dave's chest, onto his abdomen, and into the crease of his jeans, between his thighs. Dave had no say over what his traitorous legs did, apparently, because they spread open, coaxing Puck's knee between them, and wedged firmly against him. "That's it - come on, Dave, let me touch you."

He felt himself breathing fast, almost too fast, and he deliberately held his breath, not wanting to hyperventilate. Not now. Not with Puck's hand gripping his ass, rotating his hips in circles that were absolutely guaranteed to get Dave off in about ten seconds.

"Wait - just a second - " he gasped, and tugged far enough away to put a handsbreadth of space between them.

"Something wrong?" Puck said, not sounding worried, or even like he cared. It was almost as though he were laughing. Dave thought, in sudden panic,  _he's totally faking this._  Which was stupid, of course, on  _so_  many levels, because he could feel exactly what was going on between Puck's legs, and there wasn't any way to fake  _that._  And anyway, wasn't Puck the one making all the delicious, sinful noises and running his hands all over Dave's back, like he was going for a degree in massage instead of math?

"I'm just - it's kind of fast," he said, putting a hand out, to give himself a little room for his body to maneuver. But Puck smiled, and reeled him right back in with his strong, muscular forearms and made a home for himself on Dave's chest. He brushed firm, insistent thumbs against Dave's nipples, and wasn't  _that_  a hell of a sensation.

"Puck," he said, a little more desperately.

"All right, all right," Puck said, in easy acquiescence. "I can slow down." He brought his lips to Dave's ear. "But I'd have thought that ten years of waiting was  _pretty fucking slow."_

Dave's thinking process, already impaired by lack of blood flow, stuttered to a halt. He jerked back and stared at Puck, eyes wide. "You remember that?"

Puck returned the gaze with an incredulous chuckle. "Really, Dave?" He shook his head. "You think I could have forgotten?"

Dave had no idea what might or might not be going on in Puck's mind. It had always been a mystery to Dave, even through the years of kind-of-friendship in middle school; even after the accident. Even after that night at Finn's, when they'd discovered things about each other they had no idea were even possible. But Dave knew how it had been for himself. He could tell him. He figured he owed Puck at least that much.

"I never forgot," he said, haltingly. "I always - I wanted. Wanted you."

Puck's breathtaking smile - and it really did, it took Dave's breath, and for a few moments he struggled dizzily for oxygen - broke over his face, and Puck's eyes shone with pleasure. Dave had no idea what he would have to do to get Puck to look at him like that again, but he was willing to do a lot.

"Yeah," said Puck. "Me, too." His fingers touched the margins of Dave's face. "Still do. You gonna let me now?"

"Let you - what?" Dave felt Puck's fingers, tugging, like fog. They slipped behind his ear, holding his head, pulling him down that spare inch that Puck was shorter than Dave, and their lips met again. It was sweeter than the Indian dessert Puck had fed him. And this - he thought maybe he might never want anything else again in his mouth, ever.

 _Well. Maybe something,_ thought the crazy person that had overtaken Dave's brain.

"Let me," Puck insisted, when their mouths parted, and then he put his hand directly on top of Dave's aching cock. Dave heard himself make a noise, one that sounded something like  _please,_  only a whole lot more desperate than that. It would have been absurd and ridiculous and embarrassing, if Dave had had any higher brain function left at all.

Puck gave Dave a little push and a little tug and suddenly, just like Dave was one of his students in the dojo, he was sitting on the couch. Puck impatiently pushed his backpack out of the way, dislodging a disgruntled Pascal, and managed to get Dave's zipper halfway down before Dave could think to help him.

"Here - I can..." Dave lifted up, off the couch, and Puck's hands slipped into his slightly too-loose jeans and pulled them down to his knees. He knelt between Dave's legs in a pose Dave had seen a million times in his dreams, although never with quite this expression on Puck's face. Like - like he  _really wanted_  to be there.

"Tell me you've been tested," Puck said, cupping him through his boxers, his breath coming a little faster. His hand was warm, and strong, and he was scrambling to pull the last layer of fabric over Dave's hips when Dave realized what Puck was asking.

"Oh," he blurted, "yeah, I mean - I'm clean, man, I don't -  _oh."_

There were no words sufficient to encompass what Puck was doing to him, kneeling there on the carpet of his living room in front of his little couch. It was involving his mouth, yes, and his hands, and various parts of Dave's anatomy which were  _very_  interested in the proceedings, and Dave's own vocal chords were getting involved now, hitting notes Dave had been pretty sure he didn't have in his tessitura.

"Puck," he choked, and heard the answering chuckle.

He felt Puck's hands gripping his hips, slipping between his thighs, touching all his most sensitive, secret spots seemingly at the same time. Dave reached out with one trembling hand and clasped Puck's shoulder, the only thing he could reach besides his head, and he was  _not_  going to interfere with the movements of Puck's head,  _no,_  he was  _not._

He tried again, a little more pointedly this time: " _Puck."_

"S'okay, man," came Puck's muffled voice. "I want you to come in my mouth."

 _Well,_  Dave thought, dazed and overstimulated in a dozen different ways.  _If he says so._

It was far too many minutes afterwards before Dave realized Puck was just resting there, not looking for him to reciprocate. That didn't seem right to Dave. Plus he didn't want to seem ungrateful. He ran his hand over Puck's head again, shivering at the velvety sensation on his palm.

"What about you?" he asked. He heard his own words, gentle and hesitant, and the way they sounded said volumes beyond the syllables.

"I'm good," Puck said. "I took care of it."

Dave sat forward to stare at Puck, who looked far too collected and calm and clothed for what had just happened. Or, rather,  _hadn't_  just happened.

"Hey," he said, feeling vaguely insulted. "Why didn't I get to -?" He made an all-encompassing gesture toward Puck on the floor.

He lifted himself onto the couch to sit next to Dave in one smooth move.  _Even post-coital Puck is way too fucking graceful._

"You want to?" Puck looked bemused.

"Well... yeah."

"Huh. Most guys aren't really that invested in, you know. Giving back." His lips twisted into a smile. "But this was... great. I'd be up for more." Puck's hand reached out and rested casually on Dave's thigh, making him twitch and stir, which made Puck laugh, which made Dave wonder if he should be embarrassed by that.

 _He already knows you want him,_ he thought.  _So what if you want him again. Right away._

Puck leaned over and kissed him, one hand on his cheek. It already felt so incredibly familiar to Dave, as though they'd done it a zillion times before, instead of, well, once. Or twice. Dave reached up and grabbed his wrist before he could pull away. Puck gazed at him, surprised.

"I'm invested," Dave said. "Really."

Puck nodded, eyes wide and locked on Dave's. He tugged his hand free and let it trail down onto Dave's shirt, still rucked up on the belly, and that probably should have been embarrassing too. But he kind of wasn't embarrassed at all anymore. Puck looked like he might be ready to stand up and call it a night, and that was  _not_ happening. Dave wasn't going to let him leave here like this.

What Puck had said about most guys... it sounded like they hadn't been as into him as they ought to be. As Dave was. And he was always afraid to want too much, but this wasn't quite about that anymore, was it? It was about Puck, and how he needed Puck to know that those guys had just been  _wrong_.

"I mean, if you really want to go, go, but I definitely want you to stay. I don't know what those guys were thinking. Not keeping you for as long as they could."

The light was kind of dim, so it was hard to tell for sure, but that looked suspiciously like a blush on Puck's dusky cheeks. Dave wished he could feel it through his skin, like a little heat lamp, but he guessed things didn't quite work that way. It looked good on him, though, and Dave just sat there, staring at Puck blushing at him, in the living room.

"I don't want to go," Puck said. He squinted fiercely at the arm of the couch like it was really important somehow. "I guess I don't usually hang out with guys who'd want me to stay. If you know what I mean."

Dave thought he knew exactly what Puck meant, and he didn't like it. Maybe that was the backside of all that casual and convenient that he'd been so intimidated by. Maybe Puck didn't quite have everything he wanted after all.

"But...  _fuck,_ Dave." Puck shook his head, tucking his hand inside Dave's t-shirt. "Hearing  _you,_  say that to  _me._  Kind of hard to believe."

He felt a bubble of hysterical laughter in his chest, but this was not the time to let it out. Puck kept saying those things, so he must believe them, even if they weren't true.

Dave's shirt was still sort of half off, and it was distracting the way the air was cool on part of his stomach and side. It felt absurdly even more naked than wearing nothing. His hand itched to go pull it down, but Puck's hand was in the way.

He reached out and grabbed the bottom of Puck's shirt, instead. Maybe if they were both shirtless, it would be better. Even if Puck shirtless was an entirely different sort of situation than, well, him. A good one, though. He started to pull Puck's shirt up and off, willing him to get the message and cooperate.

Puck looked a little startled at first, but he got it, and grinned widely at Dave as he discarded his shirt on the floor. "You, too," he said, picking at Dave's hem.

Dave didn't even take the time to answer, he just crossed his arms and pulled the shirt off in one move. That thing was just in the way.

Puck's hands were on his rib cage before he could object. He was touching Dave's skin like he was absorbing some essential nutrient from the contact, sweeping over his arms and his back and back to his stomach. Dave was a little self-conscious about the hair on his back, but Puck didn't shy away from it, just made it part of the terrain of Dave that he was traversing. He looked a little shell-shocked.

"What?" said Dave, trying not to sound too nervous.

"Uh." Puck swallowed and licked his lips. "You, uh. You feel really..."

Dave never got to learn how he felt, because Puck closed with him on the couch, sealing their lips together and forcing him back with a little surprised grunt. This time, when their bodies pressed together, it was more familiar to Dave's memory. This feeling of skin against skin, even with the addition of Puck's - _shudder_ \- nipple ring, was much closer to what Dave recalled about being in this situation with Puck, so long ago.

He let himself feel every point of contact like a star in the constellation of their collective form. When Puck moved in closer, Dave mirrored him, until they were practically in each other's laps, gasping in tandem. Before long it was like that earlier orgasm had just been imaginary, because he was ready to go, again,  _right now._  But they needed to take care of one more detail first.

"And... you've been tested, then?" he asked, close to Puck's neck, and he felt Puck quivering as Dave's breath landed on his neck. He gave his neck an experimental kiss, and Puck moaned.  _Huh,_  he thought, and tried his teeth.

"Oh,  _fuck,_  Dave," Puck groaned, going limp and twitching under the assault. Dave thought he understood what had happened to cause the hickey. Whoever had given it to him had wanted Puck to react just like  _this._  Dave kind of didn't ever want him to do anything else. He gave Puck a little more pressure with his teeth, and added his tongue against the bite, and Puck whimpered. That gave Dave an unexpected thrill, to hear him make that noise.

"Have you?" he asked again. "Cause I'd kind of like to try that thing you did. On you. If you could, you know. Take off your pants." Did he really just say those words to  _Noah Puckerman?_

Apparently he had, because Puck was rapidly muttering, "Yeah, yeah, that'd be great," and wrestling his jeans off as quickly as he could, joined by his slightly sticky boxer briefs. Dave was disappointed he didn't get more than a moment to enjoy the sight of Puck,  _naked_  Puck, here in his living room, where could stare as long as he wanted without being worried about who might notice.

But he didn't feel disappointed for too long, because Puck was straddling him, getting close enough that the nipple ring was within touching distance. Even tongue-touching distance, if he had the nerve.

He decided he did. The taste of the metal on his tongue wasn't bad, even sort of interesting, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of hearing the explosion of sound from Puck's mouth.

"That feels good?" he had to ask, even though the answer was pretty apparent. Puck had thrown his head back and was arching his back into the contact, which was blisteringly hot all by itself - that pose was straight out of Dave's daily fantasies.

"Again," Puck begged, and Dave did it again, letting his tongue map patterns around the piercing, circling it, flicking it, and, finally, taking it in his teeth. That made Puck say his name, and he  _liked_ that, yeah, he did, so he bit down a tiny bit harder.

"Dave, Dave, stop, holy fuck,  _stop,_ you're gonna make me - " Puck's panicked voice made him sit back and let Puck calm down. Dave could feel his heart racing under his hand.

"Isn't that kind of the point?" Dave asked mildly. "Unless you're somehow not into that?"

"No," Puck panted, shaking a little. "No, definitely into that. A little too into that. I'm just not ready to be done yet." He took Dave's hand and brought it down to his own cock, at full attention, and wrapped it around the base. "Here. Squeeze. Hard - harder than that."

"Like this?" Dave said, and Puck nodded, wincing. "I'm not hurting you?"

"No," Puck assured him, leaning into the touch. "Not hurting. Now - again. Your tongue, man, come on."

Dave wasn't sure how he felt about Puck bossing him around, but he seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and that was kind of cool. "Tighter," Puck insisted, then groaned as Dave gave it to him.

"That feels good?" Dave asked again, a little doubtfully, and laved the nipple ring with the flat of his tongue, like Noah Puckerman was an ice cream cone. He was definitely Dave's favorite flavor, if he were.

" _Yes,"_  he hissed. "Just like - yes, yes,  _Dave!"_  The last was a shout, and Dave had to hold him down with his other arm to keep from getting his teeth caught in the ring. He guessed  _that_  was not what Puck was going for. But he didn't let up with his tongue, hoping to make Puck make some of those breathy whimpering noises again.

"Squeezing... like that," Puck said, through gritted teeth, "it'll keep me... keep me from coming. Yet. Don't let go."

Dave didn't. He had a very specific idea in his head about how and where and when he wanted Puck to come, and if he had any say at all about it, it wasn't going to be all over his couch. He cinched his fingers a little tighter and gave Puck's red, swollen nipple as much attention as he dared, basking in the sound of his moans, interspersed with Dave's name repeated at frequent intervals. Puck said it with so much intensity it made Dave a little light-headed.

Then Puck's hand drifted down between their legs, intertwined on the couch, and he felt a blast of heat and need as it wrapped around Dave's cock. Puck's hand felt so much like his own, and yet  _completely nothing_  like his own. He found himself edging forward, thrusting up into Puck's fist, wanting it far more than he should have, considering he'd just  _had_  a spectacular orgasm into the mouth of the man currently stroking him.

"I want... so much," he said against Puck's sculpted chest, his eyes closing. With each shaky breath, he felt the movement of that chest, up and down, and he let himself be rocked by its rhythm.

"Yeah?" Dave felt Puck's flushed cheek resting on his head, Puck's body trembling with the tension of not coming just yet. He made a gasping noise as Dave licked him again. He knew Puck was almost,  _almost_  there, but wanted to wait, to stretch it out - and Dave loved that he could probably push him over the edge, with a tiny flick of his tongue. He wouldn't, until Puck asked for it. But he  _could._

Puck pressed dry lips to Dave's forehead. "Let me give it to you," he said. "Just tell me what it is. I bet you can have it."

Just for a fleeting moment, Dave let his imagination expand, to encompass all that was possible. He didn't want a million dollars. He didn't want to be famous or to cure cancer. But he might want a life with a man, a man like this one. A life that might involve sharing a home and a bed and a family and all the everyday things, bikes and Indian dinners and karate and crosswords and math. But he couldn't think of a way to ask for any of that.

And even the smaller things seemed too far out of his reach. All the things he wanted to do with, and to, Puck. Yet here Puck was, offering them, offering to  _give them_ to Dave. Exactly how - ?

No. Dave knew  _exactly_  how he wanted Puck to  _give it_  to him. The image was as clear and crisp as any fantasy had ever been, and now here he was with a chance to get precisely what he'd dreamed of. He'd be a fool to pass it up. He tried whispering it.

Puck turned his head, shifting toward Dave as he straddled his lap, and nudged his cheek with his nose. "Sorry, missed that."

"I want you inside me," Dave said, a little louder. He didn't think he'd ever actually said those words out loud before.

Puck stilled, his hand on Dave's cock pausing, and he took a great big gulp of air, kind of a groan and kind of a sigh. "I am  _all_ about that," he murmured. "But knowing where I am now, it's going to be over way the fuck too quickly for it to be any kind of good for you. Maybe we should wait?"

Dave knew the answer to that one. He leaned back on the couch cushion and looked straight into Puck's eyes. "I don't want to wait. I'm done with that."

Puck hesitated, clearly torn, and Dave drew Puck's face down to meet his, touching their lips together. It was part of the surreality of this whole evening to have this with Puck, another of the things he had just learned and now would never forget: the sweetness of his kiss, his sensitive neck, and the broken way he sounded when he was close to completion.

And it was also Dave's rational mind that guessed  _this_  - whatever it was - with Puck wasn't going to last. If he was going to build the memories to feed his fantasies for the rest of his life, he was going to go for what he wanted. He took a deep breath.

"Come upstairs with me."

For a minute, Dave thought Puck was going to say no. He wasn't sure what he would do if Puck got up and tried to put on his shirt and jeans and walk out. But he didn't. He didn't even bother to pick up his clothes. He stood, completely unselfconscious in his naked tumescence, and headed for the staircase.

Dave followed him up, indicating the correct bedroom, and nodding when Puck asked him with his eyebrow if he should get on the bed. He took a moment to pull the covers down, because okay, he was a gay man, and he just wasn't going to get come on his chenille bedspread.

Puck sat, naked and gorgeous, at the head of the bed with a faint smile on his face.  _And the best thing is, he's here for me. I don't have to imagine anything. He's really here to do this, with me._  It was almost beyond his comprehension.

"You really want this?" Dave had to ask, sitting down next to him.

Puck gave him the  _duh_  look of the century. "Nobody made me take my clothes off," he pointed out. "Or suck your cock."

"Good point," he croaked, still within the flush of that experience, now seared into his memory. He obliterated the rest of his embarrassment with a kiss. Puck climbed on top of him, pressing him into the bed and giving him an entirely new view from which to remember him.

"So, you're clean, and I'm clean," Puck said, his voice calm and reasonable and far, far too sexy. He leaned against Dave, his cock pressing into the hollow of his hip. It was clear what he was suggesting, but Dave had taken microbiology, and he knew it was an irresponsible, stupid idea.

"Yeah," said Dave.

"So...?" Puck wasn't letting up. His eyebrow asked the question.

"So it's pretty obvious why you have an eight year old kid." Dave closed his eyes as soon as the words were out, because they'd sounded far crueler than he'd intended. Luckily Puck didn't seem like he was going to take them that way. He just snickered, and smoothly parted Dave's legs with a nudge of his hand.

"Are you implying I'm going to get you pregnant, Karofsky?" Puck shook his head in wonder. "And I always thought  _you_  were the smart one."

 _You're probably wrong about that,_  Dave thought, his breath coming faster at Puck's touch. This wasn't exactly new territory for Dave, but it had been a long,  _long_  time, and it was entirely new to be doing it with Puck. Most of Dave's experience with this particular activity had been solo plus fantasies. Although, if he was going to think about it from that perspective, he and Puck  _had_ kind of done this already. In a way.

Luckily, Puck seemed to be as into it as he'd said he would be. Not only that, but the way he touched Dave, the certainty and care with which he prepared and stretched him, gave Dave a pretty good idea about how often Puck had done this before.

"You okay?" Puck asked once, tenderly.

Dave was practically mute with the insanity of it all, but he managed a nod, just before Puck slid into him. And after that, he wasn't thinking about anything else, just  _he's inside me._

"Don't worry," Puck promised him, tucking his hips and finding the right angle without any trouble at all. "You're gonna be fine."

It was just about the finest he'd ever been. Dave tried not to pay too much attention to the tears on his own cheeks, or the word  _babe_  on Puck's tongue. He'd gotten what he'd come for: there was no way, none at all, that he'd ever forget this night. It wouldn't matter too much if they ever did it again, because he'd have the memory of Puck's back arching, Puck straining into him, Puck's wide, clear hazel eyes as he came.

* * *

"Dave?" Puck's voice was quiet in the dark room.

Dave turned his head. He'd been almost asleep, but not quite. When he opened his eyes, he still couldn't see Puck's face, but he could make out the shape of him. "Hmmm?"

"You remember. At Finn's party."

He did. He'd remembered, on and off, for ten years. They'd been kids, and the bed had been a mattress on the floor of the Hudsons' guest room, and the covers had been sleeping bags, but other than that... he could see why Puck was thinking about it now.

"Yeah. Of course. I didn't think you would." Dave had kind of thought it was just the kind of thing Puck did, one more in the endless row of things Puck was fine with trying once.

"I remembered." Dave heard his soft sigh, felt him shifting restlessly next to him. It was weird to have somebody else under the covers with him. There was a draft every time Puck moved; Dave couldn't keep the blankets down. "Did I... uh, freak you out? What I did?"

Dave rolled over to his side to look at him, then back. Even in the dark it was easier to talk to the ceiling.  _Had_  Puck freaked him out?

Puck went on. "I mean, I can see why we never talked about it. But I always wondered. I felt kind of, I don't know. Bad. Like I did something you didn't want."

"No. I mean, I freaked out, obviously, but not about... _you_  didn't freak me out,  _I_  did. It wasn't that I didn't want it. At all. It was more how much I did."

"Huh." He thought Puck might be facing him now, though it was hard to tell. Dave considered reaching out to touch his face, but he resisted the impulse.

"I thought you must have guessed. I mean, the way I was later. Not exactly comfortable with, you know."

Puck snorted. "Dude. Nobody's comfortable with anything in high school."

Dave smiled a little. Puck had seemed pretty comfortable to him, even when his life was kind of a mess.

"I guess. But some people manage to do less damage than others."

"Hey, I'm the one who was dumping Kurt into the trash can every morning at the beginning of sophomore year. Hell if I know why he forgave me for that." He nudged Dave with his foot. "You totally redeemed yourself, anyway. All that shit you did with Santana."

"I think he's just that kind of guy. He shouldn't have forgiven any of us, but he did anyway. And what we did...with our stupid little uniforms, walking people to class, thinking we were making their lives so much better? How does that compare to making someone...to how much I hurt him? It's nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, man," Puck insisted. "You were putting yourself out there - I mean, even if you weren't  _out,_  you were  _there._  In harm's way, taking the hit for people who couldn't, or wouldn't, stand up for themselves. How many slushies did you get that year?"

"A few. But, man, did you  _see_  Kurt that year? He was so jumpy, like he expected someone to come up and punch him any moment. So I took some slushies, yeah, but that's just cold water. It didn't mean the same thing."

Puck was quiet for a minute, and Dave thought maybe he was going to let him go to sleep, but then he went on. "I can't help but wonder how things would have been different, if we'd - you and me, if we'd..." He sighed. "I don't know. It probably would have sucked. I was such a basket case."

"Yeah, me too. It might have blown up pretty badly." Dave let himself imagine it for a moment. "But maybe - maybe it would have helped. To know that it could be good, wanting someone. That it wasn't just something that made me lose control and turn into an asshole."

"I'm sorry I didn't, then. That I was too chicken to go for what I wanted, instead of what was easy."

Pascal stepped across their legs and made a little nest in the covers between the two of them, kneading the blankets into some semblance of squashy and round and comfortable. He made a tiny ball, purring quietly, in the crook of Puck's knee. Dave reached down and touched his head, and Puck's leg shifted under the covers. That draft again. Dave shivered in the chilly room.

"You cold?"

And then Puck was right up next to him, his body smooth and firm, and it wasn't anything about the sex, just about being two people keeping each other warm. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and relaxed into the length of Puck's arms and legs.

It wasn't easy, being in a bed with another person, but there were benefits, after all.

* * *

Dave turned off the alarm almost before it had started ringing. Next to him, Puck was lying naked except for the tiny corner of the covers that Dave hadn't, to his embarrassment, dragged over to his own side of the bed. Puck squirmed a little and made a soft noise, but he showed no signs of actually planning to wake up right away. Dave sat up in the bed, watching him. He probably ought to wake him, since they both had and early class this morning and... _shit._

He let himself sit there for a few more minutes, just looking at him. So beautiful. Dave couldn't believe this guy was asleep in his bed. He kind of wanted to cover him up, so he wouldn't be cold, but he also really liked the way he looked right now. All that soft, vulnerable skin just out there, for Dave to watch.

Puck opened his eyes and looked up at Dave for a moment. He closed them again, sighed, stretched, and opened them a second time.

"Mmmmm," Puck said, smiling sleepily. "Damn. Not a dream, then."

Dave was almost disappointed, it might have been easier if Puck had stayed asleep for a while so he could get his plan straightened out. But then Puck opened those eyes and looked straight at Dave with that loose, easy smile, and he couldn't be.

"Good morning."

"You stole all the fucking covers," he murmured, reaching out for Dave's arm. "C'mere. Now you have to warm me up."

Dave wanted nothing more than to do just that. It would be so easy to get back in bed and cover Puck with his own warm body, holding him. But then he remembered that he was the teacher, and he had a class in about an hour, and his most gifted student was the one naked in his bed.

"Sorry, but as your teacher, I don't think I can let you waste your talent lying around in bed all day."

"Well." Puck stretched deliciously, and sighed. "I wouldn't want my teacher to be mad at me for skipping class. Although I wouldn't mind a detention."

Dave stared at him. Of course Puck would go there.

"Yeah, well, we don't really do detentions in college." He smiled a little. Though if anyone would ever make them want to start...it might be Puck.

"Oh, come on, teach. There's all kinds of things they used to do to kids that were bad in class. Don't tell me you don't have a ruler in that desk of yours." Puck's leer was entirely too appealing.

"You'd better come to class, then, or you'll never find out, will you?"

Puck's smile widened and his dimple made Dave pause and stare for a long moment. "I wouldn't skip, teach. You're way too compelling a subject for me to miss." He rolled to a sitting position, scratching his head. "Okay, I'll get out of your hair. You want me to bring you a coffee?"

Dave grabbed on to the safer subject. "Yeah, thanks, that would be great."

Puck really didn't seem to care that he was naked. It was as though it didn't even occur to him. He did a series of stretches that was far too distracting as Dave pulled clean clothes out of his drawers and handed Puck a t-shirt of his own. Puck took it without comment.

"I was going to head back to Lima after class," said Puck, in the midst of pulling the t-shirt over his head.

Dave breathed out. He'd been afraid Puck would ask him to ride with him to class, but here was a good excuse not to.

He didn't look at Dave. "But if you have time... I could pick up some sandwiches for lunch. And, um. Bring them back here."

"You mean, like, go back here for lunch? I don't know if I'll have time for that. I have another class later. But we could probably find some place closer, if you want."

Puck smirked. "Dude." He walked right up to Dave, like the air between them didn't matter anymore, right into his personal space, and put a hand on his chest. It was so much exactly like that first touch had felt last night; Dave was thrown into a moment of déjà vu. He didn't even react when Puck kissed him.

"You really think we're gonna be able to be alone together in a room without getting naked?" he asked softly.

When he put it like that, no, it didn't sound that likely that they would. Which was another good reason to keep lunch in a public space. "I kind of hope so. You know, in case you're the first to show up to class again."

It really was like the sun breaking over the horizon, Dave decided, when he smiled like that. Or some other stupid shit. He sighed at himself. Puck's hand made a quick journey across Dave's neck and down his back, and he chuckled. "Now that's a thought. What about... your office." He raised an eyebrow. "There a lock on that door?"

Dave snorted. "You do know that I share that office with two other people."

"You ever heard of a sock on the door? I'm sure they'd understand."

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well. Especially once they realized you're actually my student." It wasn't that funny anymore, when he thought about it like that.

Puck sighed heavily. "You trying to tell me something, Dave?"

Dave sighed too. "I''m trying to tell you that no matter how much I tell myself it's okay because I knew you before and you're my age and don't actually need this grade, I'd still be in a lot of trouble if anyone knew about this."

"Yeah." Puck's mouth tightened into a line, and he stepped back from Dave, watching him with a complicated expression. It couldn't be what Dave thought it was. "Well, I won't jeopardize your career, you can bet on that."

"Hey, don't. If anyone is jeopardizing anything, it's me, okay?" He wanted to take that look off Puck's face, whatever it was. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. I, just...we'll need to be a little bit careful, at least around the math building."

Puck held up his hands. "No guilt here, believe me. But I can take a hint." He headed for the door. "I'll see you in class."

Dave wanted to stop him, but hell, he could take a hint too. He let him leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Dave walked into the classroom a few minutes early. He wanted to be prepared, was all. It had nothing at all to do with hoping that Puck might still show up with a coffee. Anyway, he needed the time to focus. He was the teacher. Whatever had happened last night (and in the middle of the night, and this morning) had absolutely nothing to do with the job he had to do right now, which was explaining rational and real numbers to the seventeen people who were getting up in the morning specifically so he would do just that. He was just hoping that Puck would see it that way, too, and not let whatever it was they were doing get in the way of using that amazing brain Dave was just finding out that he had.

The first students started to trickle in. Puck was not among them. Dave tried hard not to let it worry him. It didn't have to mean anything, maybe there was a line for the coffee, or he'd had trouble finding a parking spot, or any number of reasonable reasons Puck might be a little later to arrive than he usually was.

Normally he always started class exactly on time, because he didn't want to give anybody the idea that it would be okay to stretch it a little and then have them show up even later next week. He'd seen it happen, as a student. But today, he found himself stalling, trying to look like he was just getting everything in order before he started his lecture. He'd give him one more minute to show up.

Three minutes past, he decided enough was enough. If Puck wasn't going to show, there was exactly nothing he could do about it, at least until this class was over. He cleared his throat.

"Okay! Last time we talked a little bit about sets in general. We'll get back to those later, but today we're going to look at just a few very famous sets of numbers." He could do this. He had notes. And he really needed to stop watching the door, as if there was any way that would magically make it open.

Eleven minutes into class, Puck opened the door and walked right in, casual as anything. He had his own coffee in his hand and a drink holder in the other. Dave wished he could send some kind of subliminal message to Puck  _not_  to bring the coffee to his desk, but Puck apparently had some amount of common sense, because he barely looked at Dave; he just found an empty seat near the front and sat down, setting the drink holder with Dave's coffee to the side. Dave felt a little of the tension in his neck subside.

At the same time, though, the electricity he'd felt between himself and Puck during Thursday and Friday's classes seemed to have multiplied. No, increased exponentially. And he was a math Ph.D student, so he actually knew what that meant. He was a little shocked it didn't make crackly cartoon lightning bolts in the air between them. Dave found himself avoiding looking at Puck, even to the point of not calling on him when he was the only person raising his hand. Which, let's face it, was going to keep happening, because Puck apparently understood stuff. He was going to need to figure out a way to deal with this.

It was almost tempting to try out his least favorite teaching method, the kind that consisted of copying the textbook onto the board while talking to himself, and possibly the board, about what he was doing. He was better than that, though. He'd sworn he wouldn't do that kind of bad job. He'd at least try. He turned to the class.

"Does somebody want to try to explain what's special about the decimal expansion of a rational number?" Of course Puck was the only one to raise his hand. Dave swallowed and nodded in his direction, still not quite making eye contact. "Yes?"

"It, like, ends with a lot of zeros?"

Dave looked at him. Puck was sitting there frowning and looking for all the world like just another talented and somewhat motivated student. He was wearing Dave's shirt. Shit, had  _he_ worn that to class before? He couldn't remember. At least it was fairly inconspicuous, just a regular t-shirt that anyone might have bought from any number of places. But he hadn't thought about it. He'd just picked one from the drawer. It might just as well have been something with a bike shop logo, or his Maxwell's equations one that he was sometimes not sure about wearing in case someone might think it was blasphemous. And if it had, Puck might easily have worn the shirt and not really thought about it either. Dave felt dizzy, thinking about how close he'd come to really messing up.

He really needed to get back on track, or everybody would know something was wrong. He took a deep breath. It was fine. Nothing had really happened.

"That's one possibility, yes. Usually in that case we'd say that the series terminates, and stop writing, but you might just as well consider any finite number of decimals as ending with it a row of infinitely repeating zeros."

He remembered saying more or less the same thing to Puck in his office just the week before.  _What if Puck showed up there again? What would he do?_  He shook off the thought. Don't borrow trouble, like his dad always liked to say. He wrote the fraction "1/7" on the board.

By the time class was over, he'd established that there were infinitely many rational numbers, that there were also infinitely many of them between any given pair, and that despite of this infinity they were in fact almost negligibly few, compared to the irrational ones.

Puck had answered several more questions, all of them competently if not perfectly, and Dave was almost to the point where he could look at him without worrying about a change in skin color that might give them away.

He thought about the cup of coffee he'd seen on Puck's desk. It didn't have to be for him. Odds said it was, but maybe Puck had changed his mind after seeing things in the harsh fluorescent classroom light, and decided against giving it to him. Dave took his time cleaning up, making sure he kept the back to the room for long enough to give Puck a decent window to escape, if that was what he wanted.

He jumped when he felt the touch on his arm.

"You okay?" Puck said, very softly.

Dave didn't know if he was more scared or happy or relieved. "I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know. You seemed kind of nervous." Puck actually looked nervous, himself. Dave was pretty sure he'd never seen him look like that before.

Shit, and Dave hadn't even bothered to ask Puck if  _he_  was okay. "Really, I'm fine. I should be asking you that question. Are you? Okay?"

"Sure." Puck set the coffee on Dave's desk. "I just wanted to give you this before I head out. Hope you don't mind your coffee a little on the cold side."

"No, I'm sure it's still good. Thank you." He took the coffee, and Puck left without another word.

Dave stared at his back until the door closed, then turned around and leaned his forehead against the cold surface of the board until his head cleared a bit. And now he probably had chalk on his forehead. Great. He rubbed at it, then decided he didn't care, the math department had seen worse. If anything, he'd cultivate a reputation as an absent-minded genius. He picked up his things and headed for his office. He hoped it was empty, because he didn't know if he could deal with any more people right now.

It wasn't.

Dave barely made it through the door before Puck pushed him up against the wall and had his face in his hands, kissing him. He nearly dropped his coffee.

"What the fuck are we going to do about this, Dave?" Puck breathed, running his hands over Dave's head. "I really don't think I can sit there all semester and stare at you talking about math without wanting to strip you bare and make you come so hard you forget the Pythagorean theorem."

Dave would have loved to say that it was only anger that made him react like he did, because what the hell did Puck think he was doing, kissing him like that in his fucking office in the middle of the goddamned day? But then he noticed he had his hands on Puck's hips and that he'd made no move to remove them or to get away, and anyway, Puck kind of had a point.

"God, Puck, I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know. But we really, really can't be doing this in here."

Puck dropped his hands to his side and backed away, closing his eyes. "Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry - this is fucking crazy, anyway." He leaned on the side of Dave's desk, and when he opened them again, he was staring at Dave with the oddest expression. Like he thought Dave was some kind of snack in a glass case, and he were on the other side.

"I should probably go, huh?" he said.

If he'd only looked a little more hurt, a little less like a pouty teenager taking the rules as a personal insult, Dave would have been ready to point out all the many, many parts of the state that weren't actually his office. As it was, though, he shrugged.

"I guess you probably should."

"Fine," Puck snapped. "Whatever. I'll see you Thursday,  _teach."_  He brushed past Dave on the way toward the door.

Dave almost reached out to hold him back, but before he could make a decision it was too late. Puck left, and the door slammed behind him.

Damn. And now he had to go to his own class and pretend to be a functional human being for two hours. It was a small one, too, so he probably couldn't get away with sitting in the back pretending not to be there. He sighed. He should at least try to read the chapter they were going to discuss. If he was lucky, a bit of complex analysis would be enough to crowd the thoughts of Puck out of his brain. He opened the textbook, found a pencil and a spiral notebook and started to read, writing out the equations as he went. Usually that helped him absorb what he was reading, but today the content seemed to flow directly from eyes to hand, bypassing his brain entirely.

He found himself spacing out during class, not really noticing that his thoughts had been nothing but memories and imagined conversations before something drew his attention back to the real world. Then he'd try to follow the professor's argument for a while, until he realized he'd missed too much of what came before to really understand what they were doing, or why, and he'd let his mind float back to Puck, replaying everything they'd said and done and wincing whenever he came to something particularly bad.

When the professor announced a break, the guy next to him, who he sort of knew but never really talked to outside of class, turned to Dave. "Dude, are you okay? You seem really out of it today."

Dave shook his head as if to clear it. "Nah, it's nothing. Just a headache."

His neighbor looked at him sceptically. "Sure. Just let me know if you want to copy my notes or something."

Dave made a non-committal gesture. "Thanks, I will." He wouldn't, but it was nice to offer. He stood up and headed for the door, leaving his books and pens behind. Maybe some cold water would help.

It didn't. He really wished he'd have brought his things with him so he could have just left. He hadn't, though, so he went back in and tried to do a better job at least looking like he was paying attention. Once class was over, he went to pick up his things and headed home. He had no idea what he'd do there that would make anything better, but at least he'd be alone and away from this fucking place.

There was no way he could be bothered to cook, so he found some leftovers in the fridge and warmed them up. There were cold spots, but he couldn't find the energy to put the plate back in the microwave. He could eat lukewarm food. It didn't matter anyway.

It took an hour and a half of bad television and three hours of lying awake in the dark before Dave decided enough was enough. If for no other reason that he needed to resolve this so he could get some  _sleep._  He let out one exasperated breath, rolled over on top of Pascal and snagged his phone from the nightstand. Pascal let out a single meow of protest.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said. "Your boyfriend's somewhere else tonight."  _Possibly never to be seen again._

He was kind of startled to notice Puck still had the same number as he had in high school, but then, he still lived in Lima. Nothing much changed there. The phone rang once. Twice. Again. He got ready to hang up.

"Hi?"

Whatever it was Dave was going to say, whatever variation on  _would you get the fuck out of my head so I can have my life back,_  was lost in the soft, surprised tones of that one word from Puck. He resorted to politeness.

"Hey. I'm sorry to call so late."

"No, I was... I was awake." He actually did sound awake. Dave had the sudden, disconcerting image of Puck sitting there on his couch next to another guy. Or maybe in his bed.

"I didn't interrupt anything?"

"Just fighting my way through another chapter of The Mystery of Aleph. Sarah went to sleep a half hour ago, so it's kind of slow going without help."

Dave revised his mental image of Puck to include a cup of tea and a book. And somehow he was naked. Dave shook his head to clear it.

"I was thinking," Puck went on. "About Zeno's paradox. You know, the one where you walk half the distance to the door, then half the rest of the distance, and so on, and so you never can really get there?"

"Yeah, I know," said Dave, smiling a little.

"So what if... what if two people are doing that? If both people are walking toward each other, say, and both of them are going halfway, and then halfway again - " He was getting a little worked up now, sounding almost panicked. "If they keep doing that... they'll never get to the same point, right? It's totally useless?"

Dave tried to infer from Puck's tone exactly what he was asking, because he had the feeling there was more going on here than a theoretical conversation about convergence and the illusion of motion. But apparently he took too long, and Puck sighed.

"This is why I don't sleep," he said. "I get stuck on these questions and they kick my ass."

"I know what you mean," said Dave, even though he wasn't sure he did, really, at all.

"I think I need to take bigger steps. I mean, I want to. But sometimes I - I overstep. Like this morning, in your office. That wasn't cool, man. I don't want you to risk your job for... for this."

 _This._  Dave held  _this_  in his hands for a moment, inspected it, and set it down carefully. Part of him, the insane part, apparently, though it might almost be worth risking his job for it. Risking a hell of a lot more than that.

"I think...yeah, it's a risk. But it doesn't have to be, like, all or nothing. It isn't, I don't know, either you fuck me on my desk or you never see me again."

"Yeah?"

And what the hell was  _Noah Puckerman_  doing, talking to him in that uncertain, hopeful voice? Since when was he the one who needed convincing that -  _this -_ was possible?

"Sure," said Dave, in as calm and reasonable a voice as he could manage at two in the morning, after the day he'd just had. He heard Pascal give a sound of protest and he realized he was squashing him with one sweaty hand.

Puck paused. "You, uh... what's your day look like tomorrow?"

"I don't have anything until eleven-twenty. I usually take a bike ride in the morning, but, whatever. I'm flexible."  _You can shut up now, Dave._

"I could come down for breakfast."

The two hour drive to Lima suddenly seemed... half as long. "If you don't mind driving all that way. I've got class, so I can't come up there. Though a donut from Pat's sounds pretty awesome right about now."

"I'll bring some with me. They'll be really fresh in the morning."

Dave almost,  _almost_  made a joke, but he decided that would be pushing his luck. He still couldn't quite believe the outcome of his phone call. "Okay, then. I'll see you - what, in a couple hours? How's nine?"

"I can do that." Puck was sounding more like his cocky self. It made Dave relax a little. Pascal would probably appreciate not having his bodily functions not quite so impaired by the pressure of his hand. "Hey, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling."

"Sure, man."  _I've only been thinking about you all fucking day._

Dave's thoughts still weren't particularly conducive to sleep after Puck hung up, but at least he thought he knew what was going on the next day. At least there wasn't anything hanging over his head. He indulged in a little wardrobe planning before turning over and attempting to rest.

He must have fallen asleep, sometime, because he woke with a start at the sound of the doorbell. It was still dark outside. The clock read 3:49.

Puck was shivering, on the porch, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. He was holding a bag of donuts. The smile he gave Dave was sheepish.

"I'm overstepping again, aren't I?" he said.

"Maybe." But as he said it, he reached out and pulled him through the door and into his arms. "I don't mind."

Puck tossed the bag onto the table by the door with a more relaxed version of the same smile. His skin was chilly, and Dave rubbed his arms a little to warm him up. "I get kind of impatient."

Dave chuckled. "You're only, what, five hours early? It's fine. I wasn't really sleeping anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure I broke at least two laws to get here this fast." He leaned against Dave's chest and sighed. "I'm sorry about this morning. That wasn't fair to you."

It was so good to just hold him, feeling Puck's skin slowly warming up under his hands. Maybe it was because of the early hour and the cold, but Dave just wanted to keep him close and protect him. He pressed his lips to the side of his head, not really moving, just holding them there.

"It's okay. Nothing happened. We're fine."

"Okay." Puck seemed totally willing to accept this statement. His arms crept around Dave's waist and rested there. It felt absurdly familiar.

"Okay." Dave pulled away far enough to look at him. "You must be really tired, driving like that all night. Want to save the donuts for later and try to get some more sleep?"

Puck's eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Or not. I just thought a warm bed might be nice."

"Yeah, well, sleeping isn't real high on my list of priorities." He took Dave's hand and tugged him toward the stairs. "I hope you're awake enough for what's coming next."

Oh, okay. If that was how he felt. Dave grabbed Puck's upper arm and turned him around on the stairs, kissing him. Then he pulled away. That didn't feel quite right. "Wait. Let me try this a different way." He stepped down and pushed Puck up, so they changed places and Puck was on the higher step. Then he grabbed him again for a second kiss, pretty much the same but with a better angle. "See? Much better."

Puck rolled his eyes, but his breath was definitely coming faster and Dave thought his eyes were a little glassy. "Yeah, okay, you're right. Can we get on with it?"

Dave wouldn't mind that, but when Puck got impatient like this, it was hard to resist making him wait a little longer. "I don't know. I think we need a bigger sample size, or this experiment will be useless." He walked around Puck, holding his shoulder to keep him from following. "One more."

Puck seemed to take that as some kind of challenge, kissing him harder and deeper and somehow better than before, despite being kind of far down. Dave felt the kiss in the soles of his feet, and he groaned helplessly as Puck found a particularly sensitive spot under his chin. "You know what? I don't care. Let's go."

"Too late." Puck climbed on top of him, right there on the stairs, wedging him against the step under the railing. It was almost uncomfortable and far, far too hot for Dave to do anything but acquiesce. He gasped under the assault of Puck's hands, pulling his shirt up and his sweats down to touch his skin. "The whole fucking day has been foreplay, man. I'm ready  _now._  And you're wearing too many clothes."

Dave was thankful for several things. That he'd taken a shower before bed instead of waiting for morning, for one. That his stairs were carpeted. That somewhere along the course of his life, Puck had learned how to do  _that_  with his fingers. It didn't matter at all what girls or guys had come before, in that moment. It was just them, there on the stairs, and Dave couldn't believe it had taken him this many years to feel like this.

"Puck," he said, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. "Puck.  _Wait_  a second."

"Little busy here," he heard.

Dave nudged him with his knee. "You." He stopped to try to get some control of his voice, because Puck wasn't taking a break quite yet. "This is... there's nothing wrong with this,  _God, Puck,_  but I want you to... let me do something for you. Too."

Puck paused, sitting back far enough for Dave to take a reasonable breath. "Right now?" He sounded confused.

Dave looked at him. That settled it. "Yes, right now." He had just enough room to get one hand out from under their compressed bodies and place it on the inside of Puck's thigh. "If that's okay with you?" It certainly felt like it was, but he figured it was polite to ask before he... took.

Puck gripped the railing with one flailing hand, almost falling backwards down the steps. "Uh... yeah," he said, his voice as unsteady as his body. "Yeah... that would be okay."

Dave took hold of him to keep him from falling. "Great. So why don't we start by getting off the stairs. I want to make you feel awesome, not break your fucking neck."

Puck still looked a little perplexed as he followed Dave up to his room, holding his hand, but he didn't complain, or even say anything else until they were halfway out of their clothes.

"You liked what I was doing, on the stairs." Puck tossed his shirt on the floor and watched Dave with those intense eyes.

He knew Puck had a lot of doubts, but come on. He couldn't have missed that. "Of course. Yes."

Puck shrugged, making the muscles in his bare neck and shoulders do interesting things. "So why the rush to worry about me? Why can't you just enjoy it?"

Dave sighed, taking Puck by the arms and setting him down on the bed. "Because that's not all this is. Yeah, I liked it, I'm pretty sure you know how good you are at that, but this - I want you to get something more out of it than, I don't know, a sense of accomplishment. It's about you - about us, doing this together. Or it should be, anyway." He ran a hand down Puck's bare arm, watching the goosebumps appear on his naked flesh. "I'm kind of pissed that you don't already know that."

Puck's eyebrow went up. Dave was starting to realize what that meant. It wasn't so much that Puck didn't believe what he was hearing; it was more that he was questioning his own preconceptions. "Dude. Trust me, I've got plenty of experience taking care of myself. I don't really need anybody else doing that for me."

Dave tried not to get annoyed. Puck clearly thought what he was saying was  _the truth,_  like it was some mathematical constant.  _Puck's axiom: people don't need other people._  He took Puck's hand. It was firm and strong and warm, just like Puck himself.

"Yeah," he said, as gently as he could. "You do. I mean, we all do. And you deserve it as much as I do."

Puck's other eyebrow went up. "And you want to do that?" His voice was cold now. Dave fought against the urge to withdraw, to protect himself, because he knew enough now to be sure that would drive Puck back out the door and into his truck.

 _I think I might,_  he wanted to say, but that was way, way too heavy for a second date, such as it was.

"Can you at least let me start with this?" he asked, and kissed him. "I want to show you a good time. You said I could."

He could feel Puck reacting in stiff denial, resisting Dave's words, but it didn't last very long. Dave put a little pressure behind his kiss, stretching it out, and Puck shuddered and thawed beneath his hands. He tried to push Dave down on the bed, but Dave put a restraining hand on his chest.

"I got it," he said. "Relax."

Puck didn't seem to know where to look. He was jumpy, restless. "Not so good at that," he muttered, shifting his legs. "I've got to be doing  _something."_

Dave rolled his eyes. "Jesus. Okay... recite the digits of pi in your head, then. There's something for you."

By the time Dave had coaxed Puck out of his jeans and his own were draped over the back of the chair, the look of concentration on Puck's face made him wonder if maybe he actually was doing that. Puck lay back on Dave's pillow, an arm propped behind his head, and watched him in silence as Dave ran hands over the muscles in his thighs. Yeah, he was pretty evenly built all over, no uneven bulk in his shoulders or back.

Dave cleared his throat. This was always kind of an awkward point, figuring out what the other guy wanted, how far he was willing to go with you. They'd already done, in two days, more than Dave had done in the last two years. Could you forget how to do this stuff? Maybe there were things he'd never learned that he should know. Now he was starting to get stage fright.

"Dave?"

"Mmmm." He came to lay beside Puck on the bed.

Puck hesitated. There was a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that Dave wanted to touch. "After 9502884... is it 197 _1_  or 197 _4?_ " He saw the look on Dave's face and hastened to explain, "I always forget because one is when my mom was born and the other is when my dad was born and - what?"

Dave had given up trying not to laugh, which he knew was a mood killer, but for fuck's sake. "Puck. Don't worry about it." He rolled on top of him, tucking an arm behind his back, just holding him, feeling their bodies touching. It was kind of embarrassing how much he'd wanted to do this all day.

Puck slowly reciprocated the embrace. Dave felt his touch resonate from his back across every part of his body, through his arms and legs, into his fingers and toes. If he hadn't been quite so turned on, he might have suggested they just do  _this_  for the rest of the night. He heard him make a quiet moan.

"This all right?" He shifted his weight a little. "I'm not crushing you?"

"You feel fucking amazing, man. No complaints here." Puck tightened his arms. It made Dave a little breathless, but he couldn't have said whether it was because of the pressure or the overwhelming closeness of this man, who'd lived in his memory all these years.

"You know what you want, or are you going to make me guess?"

Puck smiled a little as Dave tipped his head back with a little nudge and kissed his neck. "Yeah, that's good - like that." He turned his face so his mouth was right over Dave's ear, and whispered, "You can fuck me if you want."

 _If I want._  Dave had a list of top ten things he'd like to do before he died. Getting his Ph.D. was only fifth on the list. He was pretty sure  _this_  was number two or three. But he was going to get absolutely clear about one thing before they went any further. He pulled back and propped himself up on his elbow, staring down into Puck's far too pretty face. "This isn't about what I want, okay? It's about you. What do  _you_  want?"

"I'd be into that, yeah," Puck said, staring back. "What?" He shook his head, exasperated. "Dave, you can do whatever the fuck you want and I'm going to love it. Just you, touching me - pretty much everything after that is gravy. Okay?"

Dave knew exactly what Puck meant, but it was a little strange to hear those words coming out of his mouth, like he'd read them out of Dave's head. He tried saying a phrase he'd thought often, just to see what would happen. "Yeah. It's like all the guys I've touched up until now have been practice for you."

Puck's pleased smile told him he'd said  _something_  right, anyway. But he wasn't going to let him get away that easily. He went on. "You have to choose, though. I can pick, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier if you'd just tell me."

"You want me to tell you what I want you to do to me?"

Dave swallowed, as that idea hit him in a very definitely erotic way. "Uh... yeah. I do."

Puck ran gentle fingers over Dave's face, which wasn't  _at all_  distracting. He shuddered again as Puck kissed him slowly, very deliberately, keeping their heads together with one hand tucked around Dave's neck. Dave could feel the control slipping away, but it was hard to care, because  _damn,_  could Puck kiss.

"All right," Puck said at last. "I want you to put me on my knees, and do me from behind."

 _That was number three,_  he almost said, but managed to keep control of his tongue. "I can do that," he croaked.

As it turned out, there were a few things he'd forgotten, but he was able to pick them up again pretty easily. Puck was surprisingly patient while he fumbled with the lube, because there wasn't any elegant way to get through that ritual. It was just necessary. But Puck seemed to like it just fine, and when Dave got to the point of adding a third finger, he growled, "God, Dave, could this  _be_  any hotter?"

Dave had no rational or useful answer for that, so he just ran his other hand over Puck's back, marveling anew at the complete lack of hair. He must either wax daily or just have incredibly fortunate genetics. "You ready for more?"

"I've been ready for way too fucking long," Puck groaned. "Come  _on."_

He tried to savor each detail: his thighs against Puck's ass as he pushed into him, the noises of encouragement and pleasure coming out of Puck's mouth, each motion he elicited from Puck with his body and hands. Each little thing was a piece of Dave's long-held fantasies snapping into place, like color added to a black-and-white image. He couldn't say it was exactly the way he'd been imagining it, because it was  _so much better_  than that.

Dave had him tucked in one arm, holding his chest from behind, taking as much of Puck's weight as he was willing to let him take as he stroked him with the other hand, when he heard Puck say, kind of alarmed, "Dave - can you wait a minute?"

It was awkward to stop, but he let them slump forward onto the bed, trying to keep them together. "Yeah, sure. Are you okay?"

"Sorry." Puck got his arms underneath himself, pushing back against Dave, trembling. "I just don't want this to be over. You only get one first time, you know?"

"You -  _what?"_

Puck laughed a little. "Yeah, I thought maybe you'd freak out if I said anything."

 _You could say that._ Dave took a deep breath and shifted his knees, making them both gasp a little. "Are you trying to tell me you've never - this is the first time you've - ?"

"It's not like I never wanted to." Dave could feel his heart beating, quick and strong, under his hand. "I guess I was waiting for the right guy."

And now Dave felt like the biggest loser in the world, because he hadn't done that. And it was just weird, because he'd never gotten the idea that Puck was very big on  _waiting_  for anything. He thought that was his job. And, fuck, after so many guys, what made him decide that Dave was different? He wasn't sure he was up to that kind of responsibility.

"You don't have to worry about it," Puck said, turning his head to look at Dave. "I mean. It feels great. Really fucking amazing."

"Oh. Okay, that's good." Dave calmed his breath. He was still a little freaked out, but not so much about what was actually happening. Just, he'd done the same thing  _his_ first time. He'd acted like he'd done it lots of times before - and it hadn't exactly been an awesome experience. But it seemed like it was working out a lot better for Puck than it had for him. Was it bad to feel a little bit smug about that?

"We're not done yet," he said. "Right?"

Puck laughed. "I should hope not." He touched Dave's hand over his heart, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tight. "You'd better be ready to do this again tomorrow morning."

After that, the effort Dave made to remember each detail took on a little different flavor. Because now, he wanted to remember Puck's first time doing this. He tried to remember all the bad things about his own first encounter, and make sure  _not_  to do them. Except - it occurred to him that there was one thing he'd wished the guy had said to him, and he wasn't sure he could say it. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was a hell of a lot to lay on someone who was probably already exhausted and a little overwrought. So he had to just think it, and hope that Puck was as satisfied as the noises and eventual wet spot suggested.

Puck seemed more than willing to curl up with him afterwards, and he pulled the blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover them. "You need anything?' he asked. "Water? A towel, whatever?"

"No," said Puck quietly. "Just stay here."

It was Dave's house, so that was easy. He tightened his arm around Puck and kissed his ear. "Yeah, okay."

The door nudged open, and a second later, Pascal was on the bed beside them, purring like a little motor. "Go on," Dave said, poking him with his foot. "Out."

"He's okay," Puck said. He extracted one hand from under the covers to reach over and pet his head, and Pascal climbed delicately over them with his long legs to curl up against Puck's chest.

"You really don't mind?"

"No, man," Puck grinned, leaning back into Dave with a sigh. "This is his bed, right? I'm kind of in his way."

 _No, you're not._  "He'll manage," said Dave, and turned out the light.

* * *

"Puck? You awake?" Dave tried to ask quietly, because he only wanted to know if he was; he didn't want to wake him up if he wasn't already.

Puck turned his face a tiny bit from where it was buried in the pillow. "Mmmm. No."

Dave smiled, touching his back. "Okay. But I think that might be some kind of paradox."

"Fuck, not another one." He grunted. "You're going to keep me up all night."

"Like you told me on the phone, right? I meant to tell you you were wrong about that, but I guess I got distracted."

Puck opened his eyes reluctantly. "Wrong how?"

Dave lifted himself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. "So Zeno's paradox says you'll never get anywhere, right, because there's always an infinite number of halfway steps between you and where you're going? A half plus a quarter plus an eight, and so on."

Puck turned his head towards Dave, resting it on his folded arms. "Yeah."

"So what math says," he went on, drawing a sigma symbol on Puck's naked back, not that Puck could probably tell what it was, "is that the series converges. Just like with the endless row of nines we talked about in class yesterday. It's not just that you can get as close as you want to one. It actually  _is_  exactly one, if you accept that there's an infinite number of steps."

"But how do you have time for an infinite number of steps? Wouldn't you be stuck there?"

"Yeah, I don't know, that's the weird part. Maybe it's because they get infinitely short, too. Or because you don't need to  _stop_  at every single point on the way to wherever. If you did, you probably would be stuck."

Dave smiled. Puck was sprawled there in his sheets, gazing at him out of one eye, his limbs still loose and heavy from sleeping, listening avidly to him talk about... math. Kind of.

"Maybe those guys, Zeno and whoever he was meeting in the doorway... there's nobody telling them they have to keep taking those damn half steps. They managed the first just fine, even if you could just as easily start going on about the half of  _that_. They should just say, fuck it, let's move already."

Puck shifted, the muscles in his back rippling under Dave's hand. Dave stroked them reverently, appreciating the fact that Puck seemed to enjoy being touched as much as he enjoyed touching him. "Assuming these guys actually want to reach the same point."

There was that. "Anyway, remember I told you about the rational numbers, that there's an infinity of them in every interval? Because you can always find the halfway point?"

His finger traced the line of Puck's spine.

"And on and on forever." Puck's voice was low and sleepy.

Dave brushed a hand along the edge of his ribcage. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean the interval is infinitely large. It can be kind of small. Doesn't matter, there's still an infinity inside of it." He bent down and placed a kiss on Puck's shoulder. "With just as many points in it as all of the universe."

"S'beautiful," he murmured. His eyes were closed now.

Dave rested his head on Puck's back, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.  _You're telling me._

* * *

Puck woke him with a little shoulder shake. "Dave. Come on."

He struggled awake, squinting. Dave was a morning person, but that didn't generally include mornings after which he'd had three and a half hours of sleep. "What?"

"I was just thinking, about the paradox."

Oh. Nothing important. He buried back into the covers. "Puck, it's called a paradox for a reason. There isn't really an answer."

Puck was sitting on top of the covers, cross-legged. He'd clearly been awake for a while because he had a glass of orange juice and a croissant. Dave didn't know if he could really tell Puck at this point that he didn't want him to have food in the bedroom. He sighed and turned over to face him.

"But, okay, if you really want to talk about it, I think it somehow comes down to cardinality, and how it's not the same thing as size. And, besides, there's quantum mechanics. The ancient Greeks didn't really take that into account. So we're only talking about abstract, mathematically constructed people. Or tortoises or whatever."

Puck held out the croissant for Dave to take a bite. He did, trying not to get any crumbs on the covers, and watched Puck lick his fingers afterwards. "Cardinality?"

"The number of elements in a set. It's pretty intuitive as long as you stick to finite sets, but once you get into infinity, it kind of breaks down. That's why Georg Cantor's famous, he figured out a way to sort that out. Only you get some weird results, like small parts of something being equally big as the whole thing, and one infinite list being longer than another."

Puck gazed down at him. His hands were empty now, and he slipped one under the covers. "Is it crazy that you talking about math like this is a total turn-on?"

Math was a turn-on? Yes, probably crazy, but he wasn't sure he wanted to tell Puck that, in case that made him try to stop. It might make class awkward, but they'd find a way to deal. "Really? Like, all math, or just this?"

"Honestly? You could probably read me the newspaper and I'd be good to go." He grinned, and did something with his hand that made Dave wake up completely. "But mostly I think it's the way you get when you talk about math. You really know what you're doing. It's pretty hot."

"Huh. So I should be talking to you about something like... curves on the complex plane? Does that work for you?"

"Dude. If I wanted to talk about  _curves,_  I'd be with a chick. I'm into  _you."_  He threw the covers back and straddled Dave, leaning in to kiss him. "And, apparently, you really do it for me."

There really was no point in arguing with that. He could save the math for some other time.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn pulled the darts out of the board and handed them over to Puck. "So where were you last night?"

"What makes you think I was anywhere? Ow - fuck." Puck picked a dart out of his finger and sucked on the bleeding tip.

Finn grinned and shook his head. "You're so transparent when you're dating somebody. First, your mom told me you were out when I called. And two, since when do you stab yourself with darts? Not since, like, middle school?"

Puck knew it was true, but it was hard to take from Finn, whose powers of observation were not the keenest. "I have early class, so I stayed over in Columbus. And I'm working on less than four hours of sleep, and I'm _still_ going to kick your ass, Hudson. Come on, three more."

Puck's standing lunch with Finn had started after Finn's second attempt at college had put the two of them back into the same math class at OSU Lima. It was a foregone conclusion that Puck was better at math than Finn, so he'd ended up helping him with his homework at Fat Jack's, and that'd turned into lunch and darts after class three times a week. It had been easy to keep going after the class was over.

"So come on," Finn pressed. He was going to be persistent.

Bravado and half-truths hadn't worked, so Puck tried misdirection. "You wanna go see that new Scream movie this weekend? They're doing a midnight show on Friday."

It occurred to him, as he said it, that he actually had somebody to invite to the movies, maybe - somebody who might even like a horror movie  _and_ who might put out at the end of the night, that was, not a somebody who was practically his sibling. Not a somebody who was currently giving him the most curious look.

"Why are you dodging this question? It's not a person I know, is it?"

Puck felt the sweat on the back of his neck, but he ignored it. Stupid broken air conditioning. "Finn, dude, are you gonna play darts or am I gonna win by forfeit? Pretty sure - "

Finn leaned back against the table and picked up his beer. "I do know her, huh? It's not that girl from rock climbing?"

"Pretty sure she plays for the other team, man," he said dully. Okay. Damage control. He could claim a headache and bug out early. He could start insulting Finn and get him hurt enough that he shut up. He could -

Fuck it.

"It's a guy," he said.

"No, she totally had boobs," Finn insisted. "And who knows, maybe she likes guys and girls. I kind of think she was hot for you. What was her name?"

"No, Finn - " He put out a hand to restrain Finn's dart throw and made him meet Puck's eyes. He put on his best serious face, not that he used it all that often. He hoped Finn didn't confuse it with his pissed face. "Me. It's a guy."

Now Finn was really confused. "I know you're a guy, dude. I've seen your boyparts, right?"

" _Finn,"_  Puck snapped. Maybe it  _was_  going to end up being his pissed face after all. He took a deep breath. "Look, you were asking what I was doing last night, and I'm telling you, I was with a guy."

"Okay." Finn wrinkled his eyebrows and fell silent, his stance unconsciously leaning over the toe line as he got ready to throw. The first two hit the double ring. The last bounced off the wall.

"You were with a  _guy?"_  Finn said, entirely too loudly.

Puck rolled his eyes. Finn Hudson, meet subtle. The blind date from hell. He put a hand on Finn's shoulder and steered him back to the table. "Okay, so, I'd kind of like to come  _back_  to Fat Jack's sometime, so let's not scare the locals too much, all right?"

Finn was clearly trying hard to grasp this. He had that comical quizzical thing going on, like he was a dog and there was a treat on his nose - he could smell it, but he couldn't see it. "But, wait - since when do you like guys? I mean, your track record with girls for the past couple years isn't so good, but... you're not just giving it a try because of that, are you?"

"No, Finn." He sighed, running a hand over his head, and leaned in across the table. Finn leaned in, too, converging on the beer pitcher. "I like guys. I always have. The last six dates I had were with guys, but none of them were worth talking about with my best friend, so you haven't missed anything. But this one - " He stopped, finding something completely fascinating to examine on the table in front of them.

"Dude," said Finn, and he sounded kind of hurt. "You've always liked guys and I didn't  _know_  this about you? What the hell? Since when do we keep these things from each other?"

"I don't know, Hudson, since I was in freaking middle school? And can you really tell me you wanted to hear it, seriously? I mean, Kurt said five words about his adventures dating after Blaine and you were all  _dude, TMI."_  He stared furiously at the table, avoiding Finn's accusing eyes.

"You didn't think I wanted to hear it? You're my  _best friend."_  That didn't sound good. Finn was working himself into a full scale hissy. He'd better man up.

"Okay, you're right. I was stupid, I should have told you, and I'm  _sorry,_  okay?" He stabbed at the wood grain under the polyurethane on the table with a frustrated coffee stirrer. "Fuck."

Finn watched him for another couple tense minutes before he sighed and leaned back in his chair. "After everything with Santana, I guess... I thought you would have trusted me better than that. Don't you?"

"Hey, I'm telling you now, aren't I? Pretty much the only other person who knows is Sarah, and she's practically me eight years younger with tits, so." He shrugged. "Here's me, trusting you. Yeah, I like dick. You gonna bail?"

"I - no." Finn touched his hand. "No. I'm your friend, okay?"

 _He dropped that "best" modifier pretty damn quickly,_  thought Puck's obnoxious self esteem, but he tried not to dwell on it. "Okay. Can we get back to the beer and the pizza and the darts, because I think I'm about to overload on fucking feelings here."

"Whatever, dude." Finn was grinning now, and that was a good sign. Puck rolled his shoulders and topped off his glass. "But you still like girls, right? I mean, I didn't dream that part or anything?"

"Yeah, Finn, I still like girls."

Finn was really thinking now. "So that kind of opens up a whole new group of possible dates, huh?"

He took a long drink. "Yeah. My choices are infinite. Assuming the sample set of all possible partners actually likes guys. Or likes me."

"Who wouldn't?" Finn's face lit up. "Hey, you could date Kurt now!"

"Uh,  _no._ I couldn't. You're already like my fucking brother. I don't need to date yours." Puck decided to take the matter into his own hands and pushed his chair back, swiping the darts off the table. He wondered if Dave liked darts at all.

"So... I'm never going to guess who it is now. Too many options. You're just going to have to tell me about him." Finn was waiting patiently. Puck could feel his expectant eyes on his back as he lined up to throw.

"Dude, I don't know if I really -"

"Hey, nothing's changed here, except you're still dodging the question. You like this... guy?"

He got the first one in the wedge, and tried to line up the second one to fall inside it too, but it hit the board. "Yeah, maybe," he allowed.  _He kind of saved my life once. And I've been having dreams about him since we were twelve. And the reality is a hell of a lot hotter than the fantasy, but whatever._

"You're not going to tell me about him, are you?" Finn sounded sad again. It made Puck feel like crap in a whole new way. He squinted at the board and threw.

"Dude, bull's eye!" Finn cried, and came over to do the high-five. Then he hugged Puck so tight his ribs creaked.

"Take it easy," he said weakly, but Finn was way too wrapped up in his emotional moment.

"I'm sorry you didn't think you could say anything." Finn pulled back and held his shoulders, like he was going to shake him, but instead, he said, "You can tell me anything, man."

"Really." He raised an eyebrow at him. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, seriously," Finn enthused. "I want to be, you know, there for you."

"Oh, so we're living out  _that_  episode of  _Friends,"_  he muttered, plucking the darts from the board and passing them to Finn. "I didn't realize."

They shot two more rounds in silence before Puck said, "It's somebody you know. Knew."  _And he drew on your face with permanent marker._

"All right." Now Finn sounded a little nervous, but who the fuck could blame him? "And he's a good guy?"

"You mean as opposed to, like, the Joker or the Riddler?" Finn actually laughed at that one. "Yeah. He's fine."

"Okay," Finn said, and shrugged. "I guess that's all that matters, huh?"

Puck was kind of impressed with himself, because he hadn't freaked out or thrown up or lost his head in any way, but he was a hell of a lot more impressed with Finn. He tried to think of a way to tell him this without sounding like a complete douche, but in the end, he just paid for his lunch.

"Uh, thanks," said Finn, because he made about as much money at the garage as Puck did at the dojo, and neither one had a ton to spare. He glanced over Puck's shoulder, then back at him with an anxious grimace. "That doesn't mean this is, like, a date or something?"

"Finn," said Puck, gritting his teeth, "how about you  _never ask me that question again,_  okay?"

* * *

Kurt usually called Dave after rehearsal was over, before he headed home for dinner. That was around ten o'clock. It wasn't every week, but he could count on hearing from him pretty regularly. Dave wasn't exactly sure what he was going to tell Kurt when he asked his usual  _what's new with you?_ this week _._  It was a toss-up between a believable lie, like  _nothing,_  or a creatively framed metaphor, like  _more than you can possibly imagine._  Either way, Kurt wouldn't pry. He wasn't that kind of person.

Dave was prepping for Thursday's class when he called. "David," he said.

"Hey, Kurt! What's up?" Dave tried to make it sound like a genuine question. Maybe if he got him talking about himself right off the bat, he could avoid the issue.

"Well, as you know, I'm not one to gossip," said Kurt, which was hilarious, but Dave managed to restrain his snort. "But a reliable source has passed on some information, and perhaps you'd be so kind as to confirm or deny it?"

"Um." Puck was pretty much the only subject he could think about that it made sense for Kurt to ask him about, but how would Kurt even know that? "What is it about that makes you think I know?"

"Well, in the vast pool of gay men that McKinley high has spawned, you and I are notable for swimming... on the surface. With at least arms and legs kicking above the water. Let's say I discovered another swimmer in this pool who might be, er, surfacing? I'd think telling you would fall into the category of a... a lifesaving measure, rather than an insensitive exposure of secrets. Don't you think?"

Did he? He had to be talking about Puck. But if Kurt had just found out about Puck now, it probably meant  _Finn_  just found out, because where else would he have heard? That had some implications that made Dave want to be very careful. "Uh...are you sure this guy would feel the same way about that?"

"My sources are inconclusive in that regard. But... if this someone were a person with whom you'd had a... history, perhaps it might be significant?"

That really sounded like Kurt knew more than he'd let on. "I...if I did, hypothetically, wouldn't I already know about...whatever this is?"

"Possibly," Kurt allowed. "I don't want to make any assumptions." Kurt sounded like he was practically dying to do exactly that. "But this might be a convenient time for you to share anything you might have been sitting on...  _David."_

"Because you never assume. Right. Look, Kurt, you know as well as I do that some secrets belong to more than one person. I really don't know if I have the right to tell you."

"So you  _do_  know something." Kurt sounded entirely too satisfied with himself.

Damn. Kurt was too smart for him about things like this. Like talking.

"Kurt, I know lots and lots of things. I'm sure you do too. So either ask me what you want to ask, and maybe I'll answer and maybe not, or you can find something else to talk about, or you can hang up. Your choice."

"Mmmm... a little defensive this evening, I think. Well, how about we drop it, then." Kurt proceeded to chatter at Dave for a good ten minutes about the script he was reviewing ("The relationships between the main characters are completely unbelievable, but there's something compelling about it anyway..."). Dave was just about to tell him to bug off so he could get back to his work when the conversation made a U-turn.

"So if I mentioned the  _name_  of the person in question, would that be enough for you to give me anything in return? Because, let's face it, David, I clearly have nothing better to do than to gossip about the personal lives of kids from my hometown."

Dave was starting to see that resistance was completely useless. What was he so afraid of, anyway? What would Kurt possibly do with the knowledge that would actually hurt anyone? He didn't have to give him all the details, or anything. And if, by some miraculous coincidence, another former McKinley student had just come out, he'd like to know so he could be done with this.

"Okay."

"Okay," Kurt responded, with far too much excitement. "So Finn called me up yesterday, wailing and moaning that  _his best friend_ of twelve years had managed to keep a secret from him for nearly all of those years. Care to take a guess about the secret to which I am alluding?"

"Kurt. Can you please cut the crap and just tell me?"

"You don't have to be vulgar, David. Honestly, I don't know why I bother trying to be subtle with you anyway. It's  _Noah._ He's apparently been swimming in our pool for at least the last several years."

 _Swimming in our pool._ That was one way to put it. Dave let out a loud breath. "Yeah. I thought that might be it."

"You knew about this? Did you think you could have  _said something_? What kind of best friend  _are_  you?"

"The kind who doesn't go around telling his other friends' secrets?" Especially when there was no way to explain how he knew without telling his own. Maybe he should feel a little guilty. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Apology accepted. You haven't heard about anyone else, have you? Because Finn mentioned he's seeing someone - someone Finn knows, or knew. And apparently it's  _serious."_

Serious? For one heart-stopping moment, Dave was positive that person couldn't be him. But Puck had said - hadn't he? That nothing else had been serious for a while? So it had to be.

"David? I didn't lose you there, did I?"

Dave took another long, steadying breath. "No. No, I'm here." Puck hadn't told Finn his name. Was he ashamed? Did he think Dave was?

He didn't want to lie to Kurt. And he had kept some pretty big secrets for Dave before. "Promise not to tell anyone unless I say you can?"

There was an audible squeal. " _David!_ Okay - yes, yes, of course. Please, continue. I'm all ears."

"Okay. It's - the guy Puck was talking about. It's me. "

"I knew it!" Kurt sounded a little awed. "I'm not sure if I should be impressed or worried. Tell me he's treating you all right?"

"Is he... Yes, of course he is. But, Kurt, there's more. There's a reason I asked you not to tell. Because he's...he's kind of my student now."

"Your... David? Please tell me you're teaching him something... reasonably civil." Kurt's tone was teasing. "Wait, didn't you say that was an upper level course? Was there some kind of mix-up at the registrar's office?"

"Why does everybody think he's stupid? Because he's really not. He's got this amazing brain, that nobody ever told him he could use for anything. I'm lucky to have him in my class. He should be teaching the goddamn class, if there was any justice in the world at all."

Kurt made vague pacifying noises in his ear. "Don't blow a gasket, David. I believe you. Noah's always been one to surprise people. And somehow he managed to graduate without ever attending class, so that makes a kind of sense. But - honey, are you doing okay?" He sounded anxious. "This sounds like - well, like a big deal. Is it?"

"Yeah. I really am. And...I think it might be. A big deal. And I'm still okay." He laughed a little. "I have no idea what that means, but - yeah."

"God. This - I need a tissue. Just a second." Dave heard him sniffling. "I'm sorry. I'm so  _thrilled_  for you! You've had such a string of bad luck, and you... well, I want you to be happy."

"Whoa! Hey, Kurt, this is still really new, okay? I don't know...just promise me you won't call Puck and ask about wedding colors or anything, please? Because...he'd freak out, and I really don't want him to freak out."

"Trust me, David, I'm not saying anything to anybody. Oh, but can I at least tell Blaine? He's in Prague and he won't tell a word to a  _soul,_  honest."

"Yeah, okay, sure." Maybe giving Kurt a safety valve would be a good idea, and Blaine was better than any alternative Dave could think of.

Kurt gave a happy sigh. "I can tell you're about two minutes from hanging up on me, so I'll let you go. But next time, will you tell me  _all_  about it? I want to hear every little sordid fabulous detail, do you understand?"

Dave laughed. "Kurt, at least let me try to be a gentleman. I'll tell you everything I can, okay?"

"And this is  _Noah Puckerman_  we're talking about?" Kurt huffed. "What kind of gentleman would he want you to be? No, wait, don't answer that. I'll trust your judgment. David - I'm happy for you. Really. And I'll keep it to myself."

Dave thought the world was all kinds of wrong about what Noah Puckerman wanted, or needed, but he really didn't want to try to explain that, or how he felt about it.

"Thanks, Kurt. I appreciate that."

"Take care, David. I'll call you in a few days."

After Kurt hung up, Dave just sort of sat there for a while, trying to digest what had happened. Pascal wandered over and sniffed his foot. Dave bent down and picked him up, eliciting a meow.

"I know you hate being left out of the gossip, but it was nothing you don't know about already."

Pascal touched his nose to Dave's, then rubbed blissfully against his face, leaving a moist stripe of cat saliva on his cheek.

"Ugh, do you have to do that? It's kind of disgusting." Pascal looked at him reproachfully. "That's different, Pascal. You're my friend. Humans don't lick their friends. Usually. Puck is kind of a special case."

He must be pretty far gone if he was trying to explain proper physical boundaries to a cat. "Look, don't worry about it. It's all good. You really like him, right?"

Pascal purred under his attentive hand, draping himself over one shoulder and snuffling around in Dave's hair.

"And I really like him too. So I hope I didn't mess anything up too much."

Pascal seemed to be pretty confident that everything would be okay. At least, that's how Dave interpreted the lick to his ear.

"I should probably call him." He gently pushed Pascal out of the way so he could reach his phone. "If you'll excuse me." Pascal picked his disdainful way across the couch and sat as far on the other side as he could, settling into a tiny ball with only his nose and one eye showing.

"Fine. Be that way. See if I bring  _you_  any catnip mice this week." He stretched out his legs and called Puck's number.

There was a background hum of boys and girls  _kiai_ ing, over which Dave could hear Puck barking commands. "This is Connor. Can I help you?"

Oh. That was something it hadn't even occurred to him to be nervous about. "Um, this is Dave. I wanted to talk to Puck, but it sounds like he's busy, so maybe you could ask him to call me back later?"

"Hi, Dave." Connor's voice shifted from polite to positively chummy. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to miss you. Hang on."

"Okay." Dave really wasn't sure what to think of that guy. Should he have told him not to bother? Was this some kind of... no, he wouldn't think like that, Connor was Puck's friend and he'd never given Dave any reason to dislike him (well, except that really big one on his neck, but that was before he even knew Dave existed, so he couldn't really blame him for that.) This was taking a long time. Maybe Puck didn't want to talk to him. Maybe he should hang up.

He heard the sound of a door shutting and the noise of the room abruptly subsided. And, finally, Puck's voice, surprised, but definitely not upset. "Hey there."

"Hey." Dave felt a stupid grin take over his face, and mentally kicked himself a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your class."

"Oh, it's okay. We're just wrapping up here. These kids kind of check out mentally after about eight-thirty, so we usually end with some sparring and working in pairs on their forms." He could hear Puck smiling, too, so maybe he wasn't a total loser. "I didn't expect to hear from you before tomorrow. Thanks for calling."

Strike that, he totally was a loser, because hearing Puck say that made him want to say all sorts of stupid things, like  _I was thinking of you_  and  _I'll call you as often as you want_. But he couldn't, because as much as that was true, he'd really called to apologize. "Okay, good. So how are things in Lima?"

"Pretty much the same as always." Puck could have been teasing him. "Everything ready for class? You can give me my assignment early and I'll have it done by tomorrow."

"No way. I want you to get some sleep tonight." He didn't doubt that Puck could get his homework done in an hour, but he didn't trust him not to find some unasked question that Dave didn't even know was there.

Dave heard him take a surprised breath, and then there was silence for a moment. He wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Um. I'm kind of a night owl. But... yeah, okay. I can do that."

"No, I mean, I'm not telling you when to go to bed or anything. Jesus, I'm sorry. I just...you said those other problems had been keeping you awake. And I didn't want you to do that to impress me."

"Hey." His voice was gentle. "Dave. It's okay. It's not - you didn't say anything wrong." He laughed to himself. "I guess nobody's told me to go to bed in a long fucking time. It kind of hit me funny. It was... nice."

Dave took a deep breath. "I - you might want to wait to tell me that. There's something - I'm really sorry, okay? But I think I need to tell you. Kurt. He called me and asked about you. About us, really. I have no idea how he knew, I guess maybe Finn... anyway, I couldn't hold him off. So now he knows."

"Holy shit, man." Puck sounded abashed. "I don't know how he would have - well, okay, on Wednesdays, Finn and I get together for lunch and I help him with his math, and we play darts, and I... I told him. Not your name or anything, but about me. I, uh, told him I met this guy. I didn't think he would...  _shit."_

"Are you okay? I made him promise not to tell anyone except Blaine. But still, I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's... it's okay. I should have figured he'd tell Kurt; they used to sit around at three in the morning over warm milk and tell each other all kinds of shit." He let out a heavy sigh. "I mean, it's no secret, really. I just don't talk about it." Puck sounded suddenly surprised. "Except I kind of did. I guess - I never really had a reason to tell people before."

Dave let his shoulders down a little. That almost sounded like...like what Kurt had said.  _Serious._  "Okay. As long as you're okay with it. But you don't need to - I guess I assumed, and the last thing I want to do is pressure you into anything you're not ready for." And only a few days ago, he had been the one to tell Puck they had to be careful. Shit. "I mean, please don't think I'm ashamed of you, that's so far from the truth, I just... you should get to decide."

Dave heard him breathing, so he knew Puck was still there, but no words were forthcoming. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "Um... Dave, I... I don't know what to say." He dropped his voice a little. "You're okay with people knowing? About us?"

And there was Puck being insecure again, and Dave just wanted to hold him and give him everything, to tell him he was the best thing ever and he'd brag about him to anybody who'd listen. But he wanted it to be true. And it wasn't, not yet, not quite.

"As much as we can, okay?"

"Sure, that's fine. I'm not ashamed, and there's nothing wrong with what we're doing, right?" He sounded like he might be talking himself into something. "So whatever - I mean, you can tell anybody you want. And I'll keep it quiet at school. I promise."

It killed Dave a little to agree to that, but he guessed the harsh truth was that was all he had to offer. "Okay."

"In the meantime, I'm totally going to kick Finn's ass. And Kurt - well, I'll figure out something. I didn't realize you guys were friends?"

"Yeah, he calls me every week to tell me all the latest gossip. I don't know, at first I think he just liked that I felt too guilty to tell him to shut up, but we're actually really good friends now."

"Kind of funny how that happened, after how things were between the two of you. Well. I guess I could say the same about us, huh?"

"It wasn't ever that bad, was it? But I guess if Kurt could get over high school, there's no excuse for the rest of us."

Puck laughed, and Dave relaxed a little more. "He's an impressive guy, Dave, but nothing like you."

Dave laughed. He wasn't sure what Puck was getting at. "Well, no, we're pretty different."

"Good thing, too." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I'm pretty sure I've never wanted to do the things to Kurt that I want to do to you."

He didn't even know what he meant by that, it was too confusing. He imagined Puck and Kurt, and then himself in Kurt's place, and he didn't know how he was supposed to feel about how different those images looked, or about the fact that Puck had just said he preferred the one with Dave in it. He - he was kind of stuck on the idea of Puck wanting to  _do things_  to him. "Oh." That was all the answer he really had, but Puck didn't seem to mind.

"Heh. I think Connor's about to bust a gut out there, watching me through the office window." He didn't seem bothered by this. "He's already teasing me every chance he gets. I'd better get going so we can wrap up this class. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Connor. He'd almost forgotten about him, about the fact that he was there with Puck in Lima, waiting for him. Did he stay at Puck's house, when he was there? No, Puck lived with his mother, didn't he, but then that probably wouldn't stop him from... no. Not thinking about that. It was none of his business what Puck did when he wasn't with him. "Sure, see you tomorrow."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Um. It's okay, what happened with Kurt. Don't worry about it. And... I'll get some sleep."

Dave smiled in spite of himself. "It was nice talking to you."

"You think you might have some time tomorrow, after class? Somewhere not too close to campus."

"Yeah, I think so. We could go for another coffee."

He heard Puck chuckle. "Dude - not exactly what I had in mind, but if that's all you want, I can be cool with that."

Dave wanted to smother himself with a cushion or something, because how stupid could you get? And now he'd probably missed his chance, because he had no idea how to take that back. "No - no, I mean, I... If you want something else, that's...that would be fine."

"You'd better think about where, then. Because otherwise it's going to be my truck, and I can't promise it's the most comfortable place, even with a couple blankets."

One good thing about Puck, when Dave missed some kind of invitation he could usually count on another one coming along soon. "Well. You could come home with me. I have furniture."

"Sounds useful. I'm in." His smile warmed Dave all the way from Lima. "See you then."


	5. Chapter 5

They didn't get much past the couch this time, pushing in through the front door and barely kicking it closed behind them before their hands were on each other, mouths hungry and quickly divesting themselves of clothing.

"Fucking bijective functions," Puck groaned. "I thought I was going to have to whip it out right there in class. You're so  _fucking hot,_  Dave."

Why did he keep saying things like that? Did he think that was what Dave wanted to hear? It was sort of nice, maybe, and hearing Puck use that voice - if he could take it seriously - that really would be  _fucking hot_. Dave smiled and made a little "hmmph" noise. Let Puck interpret that the way he wanted.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you never had any students following you around before. Wanting to ask questions after class, needing help from their prof?" Puck's smirk emerged from beneath his t-shirt, and he crouched down, putting his eyes parallel with Dave's navel. "A little extra credit, maybe?"

Dave went cold. Fuck, that was - that was - dirty and sick and wrong and all the things he never, ever, ever wanted to be again. He stared down at Puck. He didn't really think that, did he? Because if he did -  _fuck_.Puck must have seen something of his feelings in his face, because he shook his head.

"Hey, man, I don't mean you would  _actually_ do that. I know you're an ethical guy." Puck tugged on the hem of Dave's pants, arching one eyebrow as he gazed up at him. "But it doesn't mean you didn't  _think_  about it, right? I'm all about fulfilling fantasies." He draped his arms around Dave's hips, running a tongue over his top lip. "So tell me, teach - what can I do to raise my grade?"

Dave looked down. A week ago, this might have ranked as the hottest thing he'd seen in his life. It hadn't bothered him that much that Puck was his student, but now, when he was painting a vivid picture of all the ways Dave might have abused that situation... it was wrong. And a part of Dave still wanted to keep going. He felt like throwing up.

"No. Sorry, I can't do this." He pushed Puck away gently. "Too real."

Puck stared up at him. "Hey, man - forget it, okay? It was just a joke." He sprawled back on the floor, stretching out his legs, and eyed Dave. "I didn't mean it. Come on."

Dave drew a long breath. "I know. It's fine. I just - let's not try that again, okay?"

"I promise." He made an X over his chest. "Cross my heart. Will you just sit the fuck down here?"

Dave nodded, and sat down silently. He had to calm down or Puck would think he'd done something wrong. And he hadn't, really. It was just that Puck seemed to be a lot better than him at having things not mean anything.

Puck touched his hand. "I'm sorry. It was just a game, you know? Pretend. But we don't have to do that. We can just be... us. Just Dave, and Noah. All right?"

That sounded like a good idea, at least for now. The two of them together was complicated enough without introducing all sort of unknown independent variables. Dave ran his thumb across Puck's wrist. "Okay."

Puck laced their fingers together. "You're cool, with me being here, right?"

"Yes. Of course." Dave was still a little shaken, but he tried to remember that a few minutes ago, he'd had no problem with this, and that nothing had really changed since then outside of his head.

"Jeez. I didn't know that was going to bother you so much." He peered into Dave's eyes.

"I know. I wish it didn't, I just... do you think we can forget the last five minutes ever happened and go back to where we were?"

"Of course, man. Don't worry about it." His smile was easy. Dave wished he could be so casual. He did his best to smile back and not let the tension show.

"Okay, I won't." Or at least he'd really try. They leaned together into a kiss.

But Dave's heart wasn't in it. He was too distracted by thoughts of what Puck had done. Puck was the one taking all the risks, putting himself out there, giving Dave opportunity after opportunity to turn him down or laugh at him or freak out. And that might have been okay, if Puck really was as fearless and confident as he acted, but Dave knew for a fact that he wasn't. He'd ignored his insecurities and gone for it anyway, and Dave had rewarded him by having an epic freakout that apparently Puck thought it was his job to deal with.

Eventually, Puck pulled away and sighed. "Dude. You want me to go?"

He really didn't. It might not be too late to get this thing back on the rails, but if Puck left now, on this note, it would be a lot harder. He shook his head.

"Okay." Dave didn't get the way Puck just seemed to accept what he said at face value, because everybody had  _something_  to hide. It was like he could say just about anything he wanted and Puck would believe him. Puck shifted restlessly on the floor. "I've got to do  _something,_  though." He glanced at Dave, his unspoken  _if we're not going to fuck_  loud as a clarion. "You want to take a walk?"

That sounded pretty much perfect, actually, it would be a lot easier if they were moving instead of sitting around looking at each other and thinking about what they weren't doing. Dave had a fleeting thought about whether it was safe to be seen walking together like that, but decided he wasn't that paranoid - the chances of meeting someone they shouldn't was minuscule, and walking with someone wasn't a crime anyway. "Sure, yeah. The trail by the river?"

They cut through the shopping center parking lot and across Olentangy River Road to the trail on the other side of the highway. The noise of the city was less beside the river, and Dave found himself relaxing a little as they set a steady pace, walking companionably.

Dave glanced at Puck's profile. He seemed lost in thought. "I'm really sorry about how that went earlier. I really shouldn't have panicked like that. If that made you feel like you did something wrong...I just need you to know that you didn't."

Puck nodded. "I think I should be the one apologizing. I didn't mean for it to freak you out." He shrugged, gazing across the river. There was a family of ducks by the bank, two mallards and a raft of brown-headed females, digging for pond weed.

"I know that." Dave followed the ducks with his eyes. "It's not your fault, I just...I guess I'm really touchy about some things, like...I really want to be a decent guy, and it freaked me out that I might not be, you know?"

"Sure. I got that."

"Want to try to explain what you did mean? Or what it looked like from your side? Because I'm not sure I understand, and...it might help. For next time."

Puck hesitated, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then laughed uneasily. "Okay. I'll try. Well - I guess when I was dating girls, I always had the feeling that I was missing... something. Not that I didn't like what we did or anything, but it was more that I didn't really understand what they wanted. I got pretty good at the physical stuff, getting them off, making it fun for them, you know? But I didn't get a whole lot out of it besides the obvious. Which, I guess, was enough when I was sixteen."

He glanced at Dave. "Then after Shelby... I just needed some time to figure things out. I didn't see anybody for almost a year. Really - I know, it just about killed me." He grinned at Dave, big and bright, and Dave had to laugh. "Me, right? But it was good for me, just to get some perspective."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, making their way along the bank of the river. "I was doing a ton of karate, all the classes here and in Columbus I could find. It was, like, my sex substitute. That's when I met Connor, in one of the black belt classes."

It was nice, walking next to Puck. He seemed calmer, maybe, more at peace, or it was just easier to see it in this environment. He was... beautiful, was what he was, and not just in the obvious way. The brightness in his eyes, and the expression on his face when he was thinking, the way the light hit him filtered through the trees. Dave wanted to hold his hand, but he was still skittish about doing that in public. It didn't feel safe, ridiculous as that was for the two of them. He settled for walking closer, so their shoulders were almost touching.

"It started when he told me he used to sing, after high school. Old school rock, Steppenwolf, Eagles, that kind of thing. The band fell together pretty quickly. It was fun." He looked intently at the ground in front of them as they walked. "It didn't even hit me how much he looked like you until he came out to me."

"What?" It fell out of his mouth, because he remembered Connor mostly as really hot, and that wasn't exactly how he thought of himself. But then he thought about it, and he could understand what Puck meant. They did share a lot of features - size, coloring - even if the overall effect wasn't quite the same. "Yeah, okay, I can sort of see that."

"Yeah." His eyes flickered to Dave's face, then back to the ground. "I never forgot that time with you, at Finn's, but - I guess I did kind of ignore it for a while. Made myself not think about it. But then... well, there he was, and I thought, what the hell."

Dave was surprised. He knew that Puck had been thinking about that, but he hadn't expected him to really connect it to  _this,_ or to Connor. "Yeah?"

Puck nodded. "We hung out together for almost a year before I went to Okinawa, but... well. He's a really nice guy, a good friend, don't get me wrong. We've got a lot in common, and we've always had a good time together. He was the perfect first boyfriend."

That did sound like the perfect boyfriend. So why weren't they still together? Maybe Connor hadn't wanted to be, but he hadn't seemed like an idiot when Dave talked to him. "So what happened?"

Puck didn't answer, but his face was red, and Dave didn't want to push him. Well, maybe he did, but he wouldn't. Eventually, Puck went on.

"Anyway. After Connor and I called it quits, it was kind of obvious that being with guys was working out for me. But meeting them... I didn't know anything about how to do that. I didn't really have anybody to talk to, except my sister, and she's good for some things, but she's eight years younger and - well. It was pretty fucking lonely."

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I was the same at first. It really sucked the first year of college, when I was trying to figure out all that shit and the only guys I was hanging out with were football players."

"Football players, huh?" Puck gave him an amused glance. "Okay, no, I won't go there. Sounds like it wasn't so good."

Dave snorted. He could almost laugh about it now, four years later. "No, let's just say that didn't work out. But...the thing is, it got better after that, but in some ways it's the same. Except I guess I have Kurt. That helps."

"I bet. I wish I'd had someone to talk to. I don't get very far when it's just me and my thoughts." He grinned at Dave and touched his hand. "I think this is the most thinking I've done about this, like, ever."

Dave took his hand and held it for a while, until it started to feel weird. He didn't know what to say, but the silence was getting loud. "So...Connor? You didn't talk to him?"

Was that too much? Should he have taken the hint not to bring that up again? But Puck just shrugged. He didn't seem like he wanted to drop Dave's hand, but it was hard to tell for sure.

"Some, I guess. He's not much of a talker, either. We do a lot of wrestling." He snorted. "Uh. That sounds bad. Sparring. Hanging out. Guy stuff, you know? Mostly I talk and he listens and teases the shit out of me."

Dave smiled. It was probably a good thing that Puck had clarified the wrestling comment. He still didn't quite know how to feel about the two of them, whatever they were, but somehow that made it better. "Sounds like he was good for you."

"Yeah. I think so. He was safe. I didn't have to worry about how things were with Connor. He helped me pick up the pieces after a couple of really bad first dates." He drew up beside a bench next to the river, overlooking the bridge. "The thing was... I finally  _got_  what all those girls were getting out of being with me. Or at least what they were looking for. What the guys wanted from me - I wanted from them, too. It wasn't just hot; it meant something. To me, anyway."

Dave leaned on the back of the bench, scraping lines in the dirt with one foot. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Puck smiled gratefully at Dave. "Yeah? I guess it makes sense that you'd understand." He hopped up onto the back of the bench, his feet on the seat, and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I don't know. It's different, with guys. I don't know if that means I'm gay, or what. I'm not sure." He nudged Dave with his shoulder. "I just know I like you. A hell of a lot."

Dave couldn't stop himself from grinning. He didn't really know why he should, anyway. "Really."

Puck raised one of those killer eyebrows. "Yeah,  _really."_

Dave nodded, grinning even wider. "Good." And...what the hell. He put a hand on Puck's head to hold him still while he planted a quick kiss on his mouth. Puck's astonished, flustered expression was totally worth it.

"Okay, then." Puck tugged on Dave's hand, standing up and walking backwards, the way they'd come. "I think our walk ends here, man. Let's go back to your place."

Puck had the best ideas. Dave almost jogged around the bench to catch up with him.

Their pace on the way back was a little less leisurely, and the glances they gave each other a little more suggestive, but Puck apparently had more to say. "So... that thing I was doing with you, back at the house." He hesitated, then pressed on. "It wasn't that I wanted, really, for you to... be my teacher and take advantage of me. I was just kind of figuring out what turned you on, what got you hot. That's what I do. I want it to be good for you, you know? Because I... well, I care about what you want. I want to give it to you. Whatever  _it_ is. I'm still figuring that part out."

That would be awesome, especially if Dave actually knew what he wanted and also if he didn't really care about Puck enjoying himself, but none of those things were true. "So if it wasn't what you wanted...it was just some kind of experiment, to see what happened? Because if you did want it, that would be okay too. I mean...this goes both ways."

"Well, yeah. Hot for teacher and all that. I'm not ashamed of that. But I really don't want to make you uncomfortable, either." His hazel eyes were intense, and Dave had to wonder what Puck saw when he looked at him that way. "Anything you can tell me about what you want, I'll listen, Dave. Seriously. Because otherwise I'm kind of stumbling around in the dark. I'll probably make a bunch of mistakes, like I did just now. Maybe you don't even know what you want. That's cool. I'll just keep guessing, okay?"

Dave was a little scared of how that might turn out, with Puck's imagination and enthusiasm. And also, hadn't he heard a word of what Dave just said? "Sure. I'll tell you, if you tell me."

Puck laughed, shaking his head, and led Dave back over the bridge through the shopping center parking lot. "I thought I told you, man. I like everything you do."

Dave blushed. That had seemed to be true so far, but he also thought Puck was taking the easy way out here, for someone so insistent on knowing everything about Dave. "Yeah, well, maybe. But it kind of seemed like you liked some things more."

Now Puck looked embarrassed, too. "Uh. Well. I guess I know what I want in the moment, but... it's hard for me to know what I want until I'm... there."

Puck did look like he was  _there,_  his eyes dilated, his lips parted as he stepped onto Dave's lawn. Dave moved in close, placing a hand on Puck's hip and looking him straight in the eye. "Try. Give me your best guess."

"God, Dave," muttered Puck, and glanced over Dave's shoulder at the house next door. "I think we might want to start by going inside, or I'm going to fuck you right here on the front porch."

Dave grinned. "See? Lots of ideas already. Okay, let's go. I like those neighbors." He dragged Puck through the door and into the house. Once inside, he grabbed him by the shoulders, steering him towards the stairs while bending forward to talk into his ear. "So, I think you said something about fucking me. Was that just your first choice for on the porch, or would you want to give it a try indoors?"

Puck's groan resonated through Dave's chest, and he twisted and scrambled for a hold on Dave's neck. "Yeah - yeah, I could do that,  _fuck,_  Dave."

Dave kind of liked being the one keeping it together, but he could feel himself starting to lose it a little. Still, he didn't think he was far enough gone to trip over his own feet. He barely kept himself from falling on his face, and only by pushing Puck in front of him into the wall. He heard a muffled protest from the floor. "Fucking goddamn  _cat_."

"He's just trying to get us to connect," Puck said, grinning at Dave's scowl, and pulled Dave's hips forcefully into his. "See?  _He_ knows what you want."

Dave wasn't convinced about Pascal's intentions, but he couldn't deny that the result was okay. He would be mad at Puck instead, because did he really think Dave would fall for that cheap attempt at misdirection? "Yeah, that's great. Want me to go ask him what  _you_  want? Because that's what we were working on here, before he decided to get kicked for a good cause."

Puck's laugh was rich and definitely fell into the realm of sexy. "I'm pretty sure what I want involves me and you and no clothes, upstairs, in ten seconds." He wrestled his arms out of Dave's hold with no effort and gave him one strong push toward the stairs. "Got it?"

Dave didn't know if it was Puck being strong or competent that did it for him, or the way it implied that when Dave had Puck pinned, it was only because Puck allowed it. Because he wanted him to. "Got it." He actually  _ran_  up the stairs. The seconds were ticking.

Puck's piercing gaze followed him up the staircase. Dave almost felt like he was being herded into the corral of his own bedroom, and Puck didn't stop until he had Dave on the bed under the assault of his hands and mouth and tongue. "Arms up," he murmured into his neck, and stripped Dave's shirt over his head. "Come on."

Dave tried to help, but he was probably just making it harder. He laughed breathlessly and let his head drop back onto the bed. It seemed like Puck had gotten over not knowing what he wanted.

Puck's hands were quick, and somehow Dave's shorts were already on the floor. Puck knelt over his torso, holding him down with his body, and made Dave watch while he took off his own shirt. "Right there," said Puck. "Yeah. That's where I want you. Don't move."

Dave wasn't sure if this was Puck taking what he wanted, or if he was just doing it because Dave wanted him to, and in that case, which of them was tricking the other. He didn't even know if it mattered. He didn't think he cared. "Yeah, okay."

Dave had seen this look on Puck's face before. It was how he looked when he was completely absorbed in a math problem: serious, fierce, like at that moment nothing in the world existed except what he was focused on. And right now, he was focused on Dave.

He swept the covers off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes, every movement swift and utilitarian. Dave wasn't exactly sure how to feel about Puck having a bottle of lube in his pocket, but as he climbed back on top of Dave, he decided not to comment. Puck didn't wait for him to adjust his position; he just  _moved_  him where he wanted him to go, swinging one leg over to the side as he got in close between his thighs. He pressed Dave's shoulders flat against the bed with both hands, keeping him pinned as he kissed him breathless.

"You asked me what I wanted." His voice was low and just as intense as his eyes. He popped the top off the bottle of lube and made his hand slick, stroking himself as he knelt there, then used his fingers on Dave, first one, then two, not looking away for one moment.

Dave met his gaze as long as he could stand, until he had to close his eyes. But he didn't want to miss this, so he opened them again, turning his head to the side to get away from Puck's stare. His eyes, his fingers, in the bright daylight,  _seeing_  Dave, all of him...it was too much.

But Puck wasn't letting him get away. His hand pressed against Dave's face, making him look up at him, still gentle, but more than a suggestion.

"I want  _this."_  He leaned forward, his whole body wedged against Dave, eyes boring into him. "I want a whole lot of  _this,_  you got it? You asked, and I'm telling you. This, with you."

And that was exactly what he'd asked for, wasn't it? He couldn't back out now, not again. He couldn't do that to Puck, or to himself. Once he got over...whatever this was, it would be fine. It would be good. Dave forced himself to relax, to reach out and touch Puck's arm, to act like he felt the way he should.

"Hey. Dave." His voice changed, became softer, more concerned. "What's going on? Tell me this is okay."

And it  _was_ , because this was Puck, trying so hard to make him feel good, wanting that success so badly, and Dave was so, so naked but it was okay because he wanted Puck to know he was doing this right. Dave drew a breath. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay, I just needed a moment. You're doing great."

He took his hand away from Dave's face, then put it back, just for a moment, tenderly stroking his cheek with three fingers, thumb lightly brushing over Dave's lips. "I don't want you to freak out again."

Dave wished his mind could get out of the way already and let this happen, because Puck deserved that and they both wanted it and there was just no good reason not to. "You're not. I'm sorry I'm making this so hard, it's just...it's not you, okay? It's never you."

Puck smiled, and it was almost worse than before, the way he was looking at him now. Taking care of  _him._ "Dave... come on. Don't worry about it. You're so fucking worth it."

God, he hoped he was, but Puck telling him not to worry...that wasn't the way this was supposed to go, this was the second time today he'd completely derailed something awesome, and he had no idea how to fix it. And Puck kept letting Dave get away with that. That wasn't what any of them wanted, not really - and, chances were, if Puck didn't stop accepting all his shit, Puck would be the one getting hurt.

"Okay. Come on - scoot up there, up to the top - yeah, just give me a little more room." Puck waited for Dave to move, then just curled up between Dave's legs, like he was a fucking chaise lounge or something, and turned his fierce attention somewhere other than Dave's face. Dave heard his own breath shuddering in and out of his lungs, but for a few minutes, there were no words between them, and it was a little easier.

"I can't think of one damn thing I don't want with you, Dave," Puck said, pausing in his activity, one warm hand on Dave's stomach. "We'll figure this out. Just - hang in here with me."

There were things, Dave knew, that Puck didn't want, or shouldn't, anyway - and if he couldn't think of them, it might be Dave's responsibility to do that. But for right now, Dave would give him what he asked for. He focused on Puck, his hand, his mouth, the places they were touching. "Yeah, I'm here."

"You're not giving up on this." It was kind of a question, and kind of a statement, and Dave thought he might hear a note of hesitation in Puck's voice.

Dave wanted that gone. He was so done with all this uncertain fumbling emotional crap, even if most of it was coming from him. "No, I'm not."

He put one hand on Puck's head, feeling the silky softness of his hair, and Puck sighed, relaxing, letting Dave's hand take his weight. "So it's okay if I fuck up. Because we'll just try again."

That was such a Puck way to think, and so foreign to Dave that it was almost a relief. It wasn't going to make sense, he could just laugh at the absurdity and let go. "We can...yeah, okay. Why the hell not."

Puck crept back up the length of Dave's body, both hands on his chest, nudging between his legs with one knee. He was so fucking  _warm,_  his body like a glowing coal on top of Dave's, hot enough to make him gasp - and the pressure of Puck's cock against him,  _right there,_  made him hold that breath in anticipation of what was to come.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said, and kissed him hard. In the crazy, made up world that Puck lived in, that was apparently a perfectly wonderful thing to have happen, and Dave found himself moving his hips in rhythm with Puck's, encouraging him, following his pace, then pushing ahead of him, driving him harder.  _He wants this,_  Dave told himself, his eyes rolling back into his head with each thrust.  _He wants you, like this, just like you do._

In this moment of abandon, Dave could feel them moving together, mirroring each other's movements. It didn't seem to matter that each motion stripped away a little more of his control, or that Puck's noises progressed steadily along the spectrum from grunts to breathy whines. Fear and self-consciousness were irrelevant in this parallel universe of Puck. Dave could say anything, do anything he wanted, and it would be okay. It was just a coincidence that he was  _already_  doing nothing more or less than that.

"Dave," panted Puck, driving him into the bed. "Dave - god, babe, you feel so  _fucking_  good - "

Under the barrage of sensory input, the sounds and smells of Puck, his body on top of him and his cock inside him, words shouldn't have had much impact on Dave. But something about Puck's desperate, incredulous tone required a response. "You too, so good... it's just right, it's exactly what I wanted."

Puck cradled Dave's head and neck in one hand, pulling his face up close enough to kiss him hungrily. His other hand gripped Dave's cock, with just the right amount of friction to take him from seventy-five to ninety-nine percent there in ten seconds. He was gasping out Puck's name, and words were coming out of his mouth, words like  _fuck me harder_ and  _just like that,_  words that would have embarrassed him desperately in any other world, but here they somehow magically didn't - and then he was coming in Puck's hand, clenching hard.

"God, so hot," Puck groaned, shaking with release. It was so exactly an image out of his fantasies that Dave just lay there and watched Puck, coming inside him, in silent disbelief.

Eventually Puck slid, boneless, to one side of the bed. Dave sensed his own gradually slowing breath move in and out of his lungs, and the aftershocks and twinges inside that always followed this particular experience. He closed his eyes, felt Puck's lips on his cheek, and heard him whisper, "So good, babe."

At some point Puck drew the covers up and folded his arms around Dave's chest, holding him snugly from behind. Dave relaxed back against him, finding their post-sex equilibrium much easier to attain than he'd expected, and murmured, "You're incredible."

" _We're_  incredible," Puck corrected, and Dave chuckled as he slid into sleep.

* * *

Puck was sitting on his back deck in the afternoon sun when Dave came downstairs. He'd apparently put on a pot of coffee - either that, or Pascal had learned how to open the freezer and grind the beans. Dave wouldn't put it past him, but he thought it was nicer to assume Puck had made it for him.

He smiled at Dave as he slid open the back door and stepped out under the trees. "This is awesome," he said, indicating the shady deck, the canopy of dogwood trees above them. "You spend a lot of time out here? I can totally see you sitting here reading with a glass of wine."

"I do. Except it's usually coffee, not wine." It was his favorite place for quiet summer mornings, often with a crossword or Pascal on his lap, when he was up early and wanted to feel alone in the world. But it wasn't bad with Puck in it, either.

Puck patted the space on the chair beside him. "C'mere. Your collar's all fucked up."

There wasn't a whole lot of room there, not really enough for Dave to sit on, at least not comfortably. But he didn't want to refuse, either, so he carefully sat down on the edge. His arm was pushing awkwardly into Puck's space. He twisted, trying to find a better place to put it, but there wasn't one. Puck probably saw what he was doing, because he put a light hand on Dave's shoulder. He didn't say anything, or even roll his eyes, but then he didn't have to. Dave was starting to get used to him.

Puck's hands on his collar were deft and gentle. He leaned in and breathed on Dave's neck, then chuckled as he drew back, startled. "Your collar. It needs a new crease. This'll fix it, just hang on."

Dave relaxed. He didn't think anyone had ever used that technique to fix his collar before; he didn't even know that was possible. It was sweet, and so much like Puck - practical, matter of fact, and also really kind of hot. Puck's breath was warm and damp on his neck. Dave was wondering if he should let the collar be and just kiss him, as a thank you for trying, or something, when Puck spoke.

"I've got a date tomorrow. I was wondering if you might want to come along."

Dave stared at him. "What, you mean like...a  _date_  date? I mean, it's not that you can't... but why would you want me along for that?"

He laughed. "No, man - with my daughter. Beth. Remember, I told you, we go out every week for daddy date night." He pulled back and gave Dave a frankly puzzled look. "Did you think - ?"

Dave sighed. "I don't know  _what_  I thought."

"Huh." The puzzled look persisted as he stroked Dave's collar down, not really noticing what he was doing now, just touching him, and Dave couldn't bring himself to pull away. Finally he gave Dave a little smile. "Do you - Dave, you think I'm still seeing other people?"

He kept his voice steady. "I thought you might, yeah. I mean, we never said we wouldn't, and I got the idea that you'd been seeing a lot of people before. Just casually or whatever. And I didn't...I didn't really want to think about it, but I also didn't want to just assume you'd stop doing that because you were seeing me." Dave didn't think he needed to mention how much it had hurt trying to not think about it, how he'd imagined Connor reminding Puck of how easy things could be with someone more experienced and less fucked up.

Puck shook his head briefly. "No. No - I don't want to. See anybody else. I mean, I hardly was before. Like I said, my love life has been kind of a disaster these past couple years. This business about dating guys hasn't gone so well for me." He slipped one arm around Dave's waist and leaned forward, resting his head on Dave's back. "Let's say I don't seem to attract the right kind of guy."

Dave suddenly remembered exactly how he'd found out about Puck liking guys, and he thought about the kind of guy he'd been likely to meet doing that. What they'd be looking for. And now that he got the idea that Puck might not have been looking for that...it made him want to hit something, but it also made him want to wrap Puck in his arms and kiss his head, and he didn't know which was worse.

He settled for placing his hand on top of Puck's. "I'm pretty sure you could attract any guy you wanted. But I get that it's hard. Guys can be kind of...sometimes people just aren't on the same page, I guess, about what they want to have happen."

"You're telling me," Puck agreed. "I don't know what they expected, really. The casual thing was fine, but - after a while, you get sick of going through all that first date stuff over and over, you know?" Dave felt him shrug. "But - yeah. I'm kind of glad to be done with that, for now."

On the surface, that seemed like an answer to some of Dave's questions (that he wasn't willing to ask, because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers). But it wasn't, not really.  _For now_  could mean a lot of things. It could mean this week. Maybe more likely, until the end of the semester.

Puck leaned back and regarded him over his coffee mug. "So you want to come up tomorrow night? I know it's kind of a long drive for nothing much, but you'd be welcome to crash at my place."

He'd already opened his mouth to say yes when he remembered that Puck lived in the same house as his mother. And meeting the whole family, maybe having people talk about them, about him...he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. But with Puck holding on to him like this, having just told him he wasn't seeing other people, that he didn't even want to, that even if it was just for this week, Dave was his favorite... it felt like he might be.

"I just thought, Beth, you know... I'd like you to meet her." His arm around Dave's waist gave a little squeeze. "Introduce my daughter to my... uh, and then stay over? Or we could come back here afterwards if that's better for you."

Someday he'd like to be more than Puck's  _uh_ , but he'd leave that to think about later. "Yes. I mean, no, I'd like to stay. If you want me to."

"Dude." Puck grinned at him, his eyes full of mirth. "I totally  _want you to._  My Ma's on double shift tonight, so she's not going to be home, but you'll have to deal with Sarah. I'm sure she'll want to grill you about your intentions. She can be kind of protective, but don't worry; she's mostly harmless."

Dave grinned back. "You sure about that? I thought you said she was like a younger, girlier you. That sounds kind of dangerous to me."

"Hey, she's only got her brown belt. You could totally take her." He leaned forward and kissed Dave's neck, right on the spot where he'd been breathing a minute ago, and Dave lost track of what he was going to say in response.

He had a feeling that Puck was somehow cheating, because this was way too effective to be fair, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset about it when it felt that good. "Mmmm. Yeah, okay. I just won't try." He twisted around to do a bit of kissing of his own.

There were flashes of thoughts through the haze of Puck's skin and breath and the scent of him and his soft lips, but they were brief and clouded and Dave didn't really stop to consider them.

 _Am I your boyfriend now?_  His hand was on Puck's head, soft hair and the delicate edge of an ear under his thumb.  _Do you want me to be?_  A little bit of smooth skin above Puck's jeans and under his shirt, flat and then not, muscles twitching a tiny bit when he touched them.  _Thank you for trusting me enough to meet your daughter._  Puck sucking gently on his bottom lip, a firm hand on his chest.  _I just hope you're not making a mistake. I don't want to be your mistake._  Holy shit, Puck in his lap, grabbing Dave's head and tipping it back to kiss him hard.

Dave made needy sounds into Puck's mouth, remembering distantly that they were outdoors and this was indecent, even if nobody could really see. He should probably make some sort of move to take this elsewhere, but his mouth was taken, and when he tried a more physical kind of hint, the only thing he accomplished was pushing his hips against Puck, who pushed back with an approving little noise of his own. That hadn't really been the idea at all, but Dave could see why Puck would think so, and he couldn't blame him.

He got his mouth away from Puck's, but then his neck was right there. He kissed it, open mouthed and almost sucking a little, then came to his senses again for a moment. "We should go inside."

Puck snorted. And yeah, maybe if Dave wanted to be convincing he should have said it to his face instead of groaning it into the spot where his neck became shoulder, but it wasn't that easy. He forced himself to look up into Puck's eyes. Only that didn't really help at all, because they were dark and serious and hungry and made Dave want to kiss him again, and maybe pull his shirt off. "Come on. Inside."

Puck smirked. "Make me."

That was definitely a challenge. He smiled, considering his chances. Puck was strong, but he was still a good bit smaller and lighter than Dave. A hundred and eighty, maybe. Dave was pretty sure he could handle that, even if he'd mostly been cycling and not lifting much anymore. He knew it wouldn't work if Puck struggled, but he had a point to make. "Okay. Hold on."

Dave grabbed his legs and stood up from the chair, lifting him over his shoulder, eliciting a startled squawk from Puck. "The fuck, Dave?"

Dave laughed, staggering under his flailing arms. "This is me making you come inside."

He hoped Puck would at least have enough sense to keep his hands around Dave's neck, but he only managed to walk a few steps like that before Puck started to slip and he lost his balance. They stumbled against the wall, almost knocking over a potted plant, and finally crashed to the carpet on the floor beside the stairs, both of them laughing hysterically.

"Okay - that wasn't quite the success that I'd hoped for," Dave said, flat on the floor. He thought Puck might damage something, he was shaking so hard, half collapsed on top of Dave. Dave grinned up at him, watching him wipe his eyes and clutch his ribs, and it was like a wave of adrenaline leaving, like the whistle ending a game that you know you've won. The last bit of laughter turned into a wheezy sigh as he curved a hand around Puck's back and pulled him down on top of him, resting on his chest.

"You did get me inside, though," Puck pointed out. He seemed content to be held this way. Dave somehow felt both giddy and bonelessly heavy. He grinned.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He drew his hand up along Puck's back to the hairline at the nape of his neck. "Barely. You're awkward to transport. I think I miscalculated."

Puck rested his chin on his hands atop Dave's chest, inches from his face, grinning down at him. "Well, there aren't too many people in the world who can  _make me_  do anything." He gave him a soft kiss. "At least, not anything I don't want to do. But I bet you could."

Dave dropped his hand off him. "I don't even want to know. Seriously, Puck. You really need to not let me do that."

"Don't worry, man. I trust you." He patted Dave's chest and hauled himself off, stretching. "So what's on your agenda for the rest of the day? I figured you had class or something."

Dave stood up, suddenly clumsy now. "No, no class. There's some stuff that should be ready for Monday, I guess, but I have the whole weekend for that."

"Okay. Nothing tonight? Nothing to prevent me from, say, taking you out for dinner?" The grin on Puck's face added the silent words  _and end up in your bed afterwards._ He didn't have to say them.

Dave shook his head and smiled. "No, dinner would be fine."  _And whatever plans you have for after, that's fine too._

Puck tugged his backpack over to Dave's chair and picked up Pascal, who was curled up sleeping. Pascal opened his eyes, but immediately started purring as Puck scratched his chest and neck. "Well - how about me and Pascal hang out here, and while you do your work, I'll see if I can figure out this homework you assigned..." Dave snorted; Puck would probably have it done in a half hour. "And I'll slog through another chapter in The Mystery of Aleph. Chances are, Pascal's a better reader than I am, so he can give me a hand when I get stuck on a word."

That sounded nice. As if he'd ever say no to Puck with Pascal on his arm, anyway - as a team, they had him wrapped around their little fingers. Claws. Whatever. "Okay. I was kind of relying on him to check my formulas, but I guess you can borrow him for a while."

Puck looked up. "I mean, if you're not already sick of me." His tone was light, but Dave knew him well enough by now to guess that the uncertainty that lurked in his eyes was real. He'd be hurt if Dave told him to go home now.

"I'm not sick of you." Dave leaned over and placed a careful, off-center kiss on his mouth. "Stay as long as you want."

Puck's smile, gazing up at him with pleasure and satisfaction, sprawled in Dave's favorite chair with his cat in his lap... it made Dave wonder if that imaginary world they'd been in a few hours ago might just be real, after all.

* * *

Dinner had been easy, for once, like they'd both agreed that they needed a break from the really hard conversations. But now it was winding down, and the mood seemed to be changing. Puck was done with his food and sat across from Dave without really looking at him, playing with his fork. Dave hurriedly swallowed down his last few bites of pasta and tried to steel himself for whatever Puck might want to talk about.

"So you know about how things were with me, with Connor." He folded his straw wrapper into a zigzag pattern. "How about you? How did things... start, in college? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Dave took a deep breath. He didn't know if this was a good idea, but Puck had told him so much, he guessed he owed him this. He'd just... maybe gloss over some things.

"Oh. Yeah, no, it's okay, you can ask. I just don't talk about it much, you know? Because it wasn't that great."

"Heh." Puck grinned. "You're in good company, man. Trust me."

Dave ran a hand through his hair, thinking about it, picking an angle of approach. "Okay, so...I told you about playing football? Back when I was a freshman at Michigan State? Because, after high school - after McKinley, I tried to just be a decent, regular guy, right, a jock, just...I don't know, I wanted to be Finn Hudson or something."

Puck let out a surprised laugh. "Dude.  _Really?"_

He shook his head ruefully. "I know that's fucked up, but I just wanted to be  _normal_. And I thought I could do what I'd done that last year, just box things up and be that guy at school and I'd go to Scandals - you ever been there?"

He knocked his ice around in his glass, smiling. "Once or twice."

"Yeah, it's the saddest gay bar ever, but it was a place to, I don't know, go and be that other guy, the gay one, and he had his own friends and he didn't really ever have to meet the football player. I thought I had it all figured out. But I didn't do much with any of the guys I met there...I mean, I didn't know how and let's face it, they were kind of...not exactly my dreams come true." He snorted, thinking about it.

"Yeah," Puck said, smirking. "I've seen the guys who go there. I think they need a hobby."

Dave rolled up his napkin and started pulling little pieces off one end. "So, I get to college and I think I'm going to keep doing that, right? I'll walk on the football team and be a regular guy and I'll find someone hot to hook up with and I'll have everything I ever needed."

"Plenty of hot guys playing football in college," Puck agreed. "So who was Mr. Right #1?"

"Jake. His name was Jake. Not football - a soccer player. And he was...just a little more out than I was, enough that I worried about the guys on the team knowing how much we were hanging out, and enough that he was pissed about that. But not really enough that he didn't have his own places that he wouldn't go with me, you know? So mostly we'd just...we'd stay in our rooms or we'd go to these two places where we both felt okay about being seen together, and we'd pretend it was just because we liked it that way."

Dave thought maybe Puck understood what he was saying, the way he was looking at him. Dave realized the shreds of his napkin were starting to pile up in front of him, and he brushed them out of the way irritably. "So, Jake, he was was your first boyfriend?"

"No. We weren't boyfriends, or, I mean, I guess maybe we were but we never called each other that? We spent a lot of time together, and we had sex, but we never really talked about anything. He never even knew he was the first."

Puck leaned forward across the table and took Dave's hand, holding it lightly, like Dave could take it back any time. "That sounds like it kind of sucked, man."

"Yeah, it kind of did. Anyway, he got...I don't know what was going on with him, really, and I never found out, because that was around the time that I decided I'd had enough, and I quit the football team and started taking harder math classes and we sort of just stopped doing things. There wasn't really a breakup, because, you know, not boyfriends." Dave shook his head. He'd been such an idiot.

"And you never talk to him anymore?" Puck squeezed his hand. "You should send him an email."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Some things are better left in the past."

"No, I mean..." Puck sipped his water and crunched an ice cube between his teeth. "I'm just thinking about us, you and me, how things were back then, and... it could have been so much better if I'd just tried to tell you how I felt. Just think about all the crap we could have avoided."

Dave looked at him "You mean back in eighth grade? I don't think I was ready for a relationship, man."

"Maybe not back then. But, fuck, Dave, I got stuck in some confusing places after high school. Even if I'd just had you to talk to, it would have helped." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Yeah. Maybe if I'd had you to talk to about Jake, it wouldn't have been such a mess." He sighed. "Or maybe it would. I don't think we were exactly meant for each other."

Puck laughed. "I'm not saying you want to get back together with him or anything. But you're a good guy, Dave. It would mean something, coming from you, for him to know how you're doing, how things were for you then, and how things are now. You know?"

Dave looked down at the edge of the table. "I think you overestimate how much he'd care."

"Maybe. I guess I'm lucky, being friends with Connor. At least he can see how happy I am, now that I - uh." He glanced away for a minute, then back at Dave, a small smile on his lips. "Well, let's just say I've been talking about you for - a long time. When I told him  _you_  were my math professor, I thought he would never shut up."

"Really?" It was a little hard to believe that Puck had still been talking about him, years after the last time they'd met. Or at least the last time Puck knew about.

"Yeah, man," he insisted. "Really. It's kind of amazing to have you sitting there across the table from me. What I mean is, he cares about how I'm doing, even though we're not together. And Jake, I bet he'd feel the same way, now that he's a little older and hopefully a little fucking wiser." He shrugged. "I would, anyway, if I'd been some guy's first."

"I wouldn't know."

"Uh,  _yeah,_  you would," Puck said, nudging his hand, with a pointed eyebrow.

"Right." He hadn't even thought about that as being anything like the same thing, but he guessed it sort of was. Except that part where his and Puck's relationship wasn't in the past. He didn't even know if it was in the present. "That was... I mean, I really hope that was a lot different. Not that, you know, he wasn't a bad guy, but we were young. I'd like to think I did better with you."

Puck's smile turned embarrassed, but it didn't go away. "Okay. Yeah, you did. I know not everybody gets that."

Dave looked down at their hands, still linked together, and pulled a little half smile. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"Hell, every guy should get to have you for his first boyfriend." Now his grin looked smug. "Too bad I got there first."

That sounded a lot like Puck might be thinking about himself as Dave's boyfriend, but he hadn't actually  _said_  it. It was just kind of hanging there like something implied, likely, but not quite proved. Dave felt his face heating up. "Yeah, you should be ashamed of yourself, depriving the world of awesome boyfriend material like that." He looked away.

"Nope." Puck chuckled. "All those other guys can just fuck off. You're mine."

Dave swallowed. Was that it? Did he have a boyfriend now? He probably ought to say something, confirm that yes, he was totally okay with being Puck's anything that Puck wanted him to be. He nodded weakly, feeling completely dazed by this whole endless insane day.

Puck disappeared from the table for a minute or two while Dave was lost in his thoughts. When he returned, he paused beside him and placed a casual hand on Dave's back. "You all right? You look a little pale. Something you ate?"

Dave shook his head and focused on Puck's bright, clear eyes. "Oh. No, I'm fine."  _My heart just decided to jump ship and take its chances with you._

"Glad to hear it." Puck's smile connected with a location, deep inside Dave's sternum, and made it quiver. "I'd hate to discover I bought you dinner and it made you sick."

He knew it was his turn to buy dinner, but he couldn't even find the energy to really protest. Shit, if this was how the boyfriends thing was going to be, he was fucked. And what was worse, right now, he liked it that way.


	6. Chapter 6

Puck's truck exhibited a lot of road noise, but it apparently wasn't too loud for him to talk on the phone. Dave watched him nervously as he juggled his cell and changed lanes at the same time. "Hey, kiddo," he said, a big smile on his face. "How's your weekend going?" He glanced at Dave. "Mine started off just great, thanks."

Dave smiled slightly and raised his eyebrows.  _So you really liked that, huh?_  Because the start of Puck's weekend had pretty much been just them, Puck and Dave, talking and eating and getting naked and starting again from the top.

Dave didn't disagree that those things were a good way to start a weekend. It had been awesome. But it had also been exhausting, being together almost non-stop for that long. He watched Puck make faces on the phone, felt himself go soft and stupid at the sight of him, and he couldn't help worrying a little about what he might be missing in the real world. Puck distorted everything, clouding his thinking and throwing him into all sorts of unknown territories, and no matter how much Dave liked it he had to wonder what the wreckage would look like once he left.

"Well, that's what Neosporin is for. I practically bathed in it when me and Uncle Finn were learning to skateboard. The scrapes will heal - you won't even notice them in a few weeks." He drummed on the steering wheel in time to the song on the radio. "No skateboarding, then. We can take your stick out to the park and you can show me what you've learned about getting past defense. I've got somebody with me today I want you to meet, somebody who knows about hockey. And football, for that matter - he played college ball."

Because that would impress a seven year old girl. Well, maybe if she was Puck's daughter. Anyway, he'd rather talk about hockey, at least there were some happy memories there if he went back far enough. Dave had barely touched a hockey stick since he was eighteen, but he was sure he could manage well enough to convince Beth.

"His name's Dave. He's my, um, my boyfriend." Puck kept his gaze on the road, but Dave could see the flush creeping up from his neck, across his cheeks, to his ears. "No,  _boyfriend._  Guys can have boyfriends, too. Yeah, like Uncle Kurt. Right." He choked a little at something she said, but managed to hold it together. "They probably shouldn't be kissing anybody at school, huh? Sharing germs and all that. Uh, can you put your mom on? I'll see you in a couple hours, kiddo. Love you too."

Dave felt himself blush along with Puck, in sympathy, because wow, that was an awkward conversation to be having with a little kid. But at least now Dave knew where they stood. He would have been totally okay with Puck introducing him as just a friend, he hadn't been looking forward to having to guess, or ask, exactly what was okay and not. Boyfriend...that was kind of a lot of pressure, for something this new, but it was also true and unambiguous, and there was a lot to be said for that.

Puck laughed into the phone, sounding a little hysterical. "Shit, Shelby, I just came out to my daughter. On the fucking phone. Yeah. She was a little surprised, I think, but no fallout yet. I mean, she knows Kurt and Blaine, right? … Oh, yeah, and them. But they're girls. Women, whatever."

Dave looked out the window, trying to give Puck a little bit of space. It wasn't him he was talking too, and Puck was trapped in the car with him with no real way to escape if the conversation turned too heavy. Dave didn't know if these were things he really should be hearing.

He felt a hand on his leg, and he took the hand in surprise before he realized what was happening. Puck gripped it so hard it threatened to cut off his circulation. Dave turned to look at him, but nothing seemed to be wrong. Well, except the fact that he was still holding the cell with his other hand and steering with his leg while having a pretty intense conversation on the phone, and Dave didn't think that was exactly recommended for road safety. Pulling his hand away wouldn't help, anyway, so he just sat there and let Puck crush it.

Puck took a big breath, knocking his head back onto the headrest. "Well, I'm seeing this guy... the one I told you about, from high school? Yes...  _him_. He's my math teacher this semester. Yeah, no shit." He still wouldn't look at Dave, and Dave figured that was probably just as well, if he wanted to keep his attention on his driving in addition to this crazy conversation. "It's really great. Uh - well, he's right here. Yes.  _No,_  you can't talk to him." Puck sounded outraged. "You'll just have to wait in line like everybody else!"

_Everybody else?_  Dave raised his eyebrows at him, trying to communicate that once this call was over, he'd love to know more about this line of people apparently wanting to talk to him. Puck didn't seem to notice.

He rolled his eyes, and then he did look at Dave, mouthing the word  _Sorry._  "That's because you're a  _total bitch,"_  he snickered. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you guys at four. Bye."

Puck shook his head, thumbing the phone off and tossing it on the seat. "I can't figure out how I ever thought she was dating material. I really wonder about my judgment sometimes."

"Thanks for the reassurance, man." He hoped Puck didn't notice how his worried grimace was more an exaggeration than a downright fake.

"Not  _you."_  Puck released Dave's hand and punched his thigh, right between the quads. "You're awesome. I'm talking about girls. Oh, excuse me,  _women._  Like it matters, if I'm insulting them anyway."

Dave laughed. "At least you didn't tell your daughter you've turned to men because her mother is a bitch. So, you know, good job."

A slow smile spread over Puck's face. "God. Did I really just come out to her? My own kid."

Dave nodded. "You really did. Congratulations."

"Holy fuck. Well - it doesn't matter now. She'll get over it. And Shelby knew about - about me from the beginning. She just bitched and moaned about  _another gay one._  Whatever that means." Puck eyed him. "You must be totally fucking sick of me by now. I've got to teach a class this afternoon. You want to borrow my truck?

Dave felt a stab of guilt. No, two. First for feeling crowded and overwhelmed, of course Puck must have picked up on that. And then because he was in Lima to meet Puck's family, and he hadn't even thought about calling his own. He could drive over to see his dad, he was sure he'd appreciate it even on short notice, but being questioned about his life, explaining why he was there...he didn't think he had it in him.

"Nah, I don't think so. The bike, though? That might be a good time to take her out for a spin."

Dave's bike was loaded on the back of Puck's truck again, he'd felt a little stupid suggesting it but the idea of being in Lima with no transportation of his own was a suffocating weight so heavy, he'd known he needed it there, if only as some kind of psychological support.

"Sure. Would three hours be enough time? I'll swing by the dojo so you know where it is. Where can I drop you off?"

Dave knew where the dojo was by now, of course, but he wasn't going to mention that, or the fact that he'd mapped it on the computer to see how far it was from Columbus, and especially not that he'd visited their web page to check out the pictures of Sensei Puckerman without his shirt on. He gave Puck directions to the corner of Allentown and Cornell, trying to be subtle, but Puck remembered.

"Your parents still live in that house? On Cornell?"

"Still do." He lifted the bike off the truck, grinning at how light it felt in his arms. "What do you say, baby, ready for a tour of the old neighborhood?" He glanced over at Puck, embarrassed.

Puck snorted. "You talk to your bike."

Dave smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. The bikes, and the cat, and computers when they're being assholes. I know, I have a problem. At least now you know what you're getting into."

"I'll find a way to deal." He laughed. "You two go ahead and enjoy yourselves." Puck gave the bike a pointed, stern look. "And you'd better have him back in one piece in time for dinner."

"Thank you, we will." Dave threw his leg over the bike and rode away, smiling to himself.

* * *

The woman outside weeding the garden didn't look old enough to be Rachel Berry's mother, but Dave figured there were all kinds of makeup tricks and things that women knew about to disguise their age. She also didn't look very happy to see them.

"Is it a problem that I'm here?" Dave asked. Puck glanced at him in surprise, then back at Shelby's scowl, understanding.

"No, no - she's always like that," he assured him, climbing out of the truck. "It's totally not about us. Well, if it is, it's mostly about everything else and only a  _little_  about us. I've learned to ignore it. Trust me."

"Well, I hope you're satisfied," she called, pulling off the green gardening gloves one finger at a time. "The craters in her knees are starting to make her look like a lunar surface. She's going to kill herself on that skateboard."

"She's wearing her helmet, right? So buy her some fricking knee pads." Their words were acerbic, but the hug she gave Puck was genial enough. He kissed her on the cheek. "Tell me she doesn't love it."

"No, of course she loves it. She wants to be just like her dad." Shelby smiled at Dave and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Shelby."

"I'm Dave. Nice to meet you." He took her hand and shook it, trying for inoffensively polite. He thought that was just about the best he could do right now.

"She's been talking about hockey all morning, so you'd better get the sticks out of the garage. Beth!" Her sudden shout made Dave jump. "Your dad's here."

"In the back," they heard.

Shelby crouched down and started gathering up gardening tools. "Good luck getting her to come down from that treehouse. She ate lunch up there almost every day this summer."

"I know." Puck touched Dave on the shoulder and indicated the side yard. "We'll have her back after dinner," he said to Shelby as they headed around the back.

It was more of a tree palace than a house, Dave decided, staring up at the enclosure. It had siding and glass windows and a trap door that led to the roof, and a rope bridge connecting it to a platform on another nearby tree. Puck chuckled at the expression on his face.

"This is what happens when you have one kid with too many uncles, not to mention grandparents, all with too much time on their hands. I guess the bad economy around here has  _some_  positive effects. Finn and Burt come out here and work on it whenever they get a chance. Every time I come there's something new." He looked it over and pointed. "Pretty sure she didn't have a rope ladder last time."

Puck stood by the foot of the bottom platform on the smaller tree. "So you coming down?" he called. "Or are me and Dave going to have to go play hockey all by ourselves?"

The window opened. Blonde curls and piercing green eyes stared down at them, leaning over the sill at a terrifying angle. Dave wanted to step forward and caution her not to fall, but Puck didn't look concerned. "You wouldn't," she said.

"Would," he countered.  _"And_  we'll eat all the pizza."

She made a noise of protest and slammed the window. Seconds later, sneakered feet, purple leggings and a sparkly tutu appeared from the trap door, followed by a hockey jersey with number 20 on it. Last to emerge was the blonde head wearing a solemn face. She hesitated when she saw Dave, but made it to the ground, leaping the last few feet to land lightly on the grass.

"Hey, kiddo," Puck said, and held open his arms. She ran into them, knocking him back a good two inches. Dave smothered a grin.  _The Puckerman attack hug. Must be hereditary._

"Beth, this is Dave." He gestured at him. Dave offered a hand, and after a moment, Beth shook it. It was sticky with what he hoped was tree sap.

"Hi," she said shyly.

Dave felt the same, but he was the adult here and if she could do it, so could he. "Hi there." He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. "Nice treehouse."

"Thanks! Uncle Finn made it for me."

"Let me take a look at those knees." Puck knelt down, rolled up her leggings and inspected her scabs, poking at them with gentle fingers. "Hmmm... impressive. These don't hurt?"

"I'm not a baby," she said, crossing her arms.

"They're not going to stop you from running some stickhandling drills with us, are they?"

She glanced up at Dave, then smiled bravely at Puck. "No way."

They walked the three blocks to Robb Park, Beth dragging her hockey stick behind her, chattering at Puck about her second-grade teacher, Mr. Wood. "He's really tall," she said. "Like, taller than any other teacher in the school. Even taller than Marissa's dad."

"Everybody's tall to you, kiddo," he said, grinning at her. "And hey, I remember Mr. Wood. He was the one with the snake in his classroom."

"He still has a snake!" she shouted. "It's huge. Like  _this long."_  She reached as far as her diminutive arms would stretch apart, jumping to add more width. "It's a bald python."

" _Ball_  python, I think," Dave said, then closed his mouth, glancing at Puck. But he just shrugged.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, he said. Because it can roll up into a ball. But it couldn't be the  _same_  snake as when you were there, Dad. You're  _way_  too old."

Dave saw the look on his face, and jumped in before Puck could protest the comment about his age - which, let's face it, he was probably the youngest dad in Beth's second grade class. "Actually, pythons usually live for twenty to thirty years in captivity."

She gave him a suspicious look. "I thought you were a math teacher. How do you know about reptiles?" The way she said her r's made it sound like  _weptiles,_  and it was hard not to smile, but Dave gave it his best shot.

"Grownups know about all kinds of stuff, kiddo. Especially Dave. He's a lot smarter than your old man." Puck reached out and touched him on the shoulder, just a brief clasp. It could have been completely innocent if it hadn't been accompanied by the expression of frank admiration on his face. Dave still didn't know what to do with that look.

"So, do you like math?" he asked Beth.

She nodded. "It's fun. My dad teaches me tricks with numbers."

"Maybe you can show me some of them later."

"Yeah. There's this one, you can multiply by nine, using your fingers. It's cool." She shoved her stick at Puck and held out her skinny fingers. "See, if I fold down, like, my third finger, that's multiplying nine by three, right? And the answer is twenty... seven." She wiggled the two fingers on the left of her third finger, then the seven to the right of it. "Neat, huh?"

Dave smiled. He had no idea what to expect of a seven year old, but it seemed like she had some of her father's talent. "That's awesome. And do you know why that works every time?"

"Why?" Her eyes were big, gazing up at him, and Dave felt the weight of responsibility. Whatever he told her, she'd believe. He guessed Puck hadn't been much about explaining his math tricks - he might not even know why they worked, himself, since so much of his math knowledge seemed to be instinctive.

"Well, because you have ten fingers. And so did the people who made up how we write numbers. You learned about ones and tens and hundreds' places in school, right? If math was invented by, like, snakes or aliens, maybe they'd decided to have a eights place instead, or something. And then if they had eight fingers, they could use that trick to multiply by seven."

"Hey!" She looked down at her fingers with new awareness, folding down two of her fingers. "Really? How?"

Dave took her hand. "Let's pretend those aren't there, because you're an alien, right?"

"Can I have tentacles instead of fingers?" She wiggled them, grinning.

"Sure. You have eight tentacles, so obviously you count in eights, like all the other aliens. So now you want to multiply seven by...two." He nudged her second finger, and she folded it down with fierce concentration.

"So there's one finger here...but that's not a ten anymore, it's an eight, right? Because of your eight tentacles. And then on the other side, there's...six. One eight, plus six, that makes fourteen. It always works, as long as you're multiplying by one less than there are fingers."

Her expression was so exactly like Puck's when he was thinking about something that he laughed. She looked up at him in surprise. "Wow! What if you only had two fingers?"

Dave grinned. "Then you wouldn't get a lot of multiplication done that way. And your math homework would take up a lot of space. But, you know what, that's how computers do it. Because they don't have any fingers. They only know on and off."

"No way." She jumped on Puck, grabbing his shoulders. "Dad! Did you  _know_  that?"

Puck struggled to keep his own hockey stick and Beth's from whacking her in the face. "Kind of. I couldn't have explained it like that, though. Dave's the teacher, not me. I just like playing with numbers."

Dave laughed. "And you're good at it, too." He took the big hockey stick from Puck. "Field hockey, right?" He shifted it back and forth in his hands, trying to get a feel for the balance of it. It was shorter than an ice hockey stick, probably more so because he was tall, and it didn't really have a blade, just a little round hook thing. He bent down and experimentally air dribbled a bit.

"You got any balls with you, or are we just playing with your stick?" Puck's eyes widened, and Dave could  _see_  him biting back some kind of undoubtedly filthy reply. Dave rolled his eyes and gave him two seconds of disappointed teacher face before he broke down and grinned back.

Puck threw a little red ball at him. Dave caught it and dropped it to the grass, dragging it from back and forth with the stick for a while before passing it to Beth in a weak imitation of a slapshot. She looked at him disdainfully. "That's not the right way."

"I mostly played ice hockey. Maybe you could show me how it should be done on grass."

Beth picked up her own little stick and flicked the ball back to him.

"Oh, I see. But can you do this?" Dave dribbled the ball around his legs in a figure eight pattern. It wasn't as easy as he remembered. The ball escaped and rolled away, and Beth ran to catch it.

She rushed back, dribbling it expertly around Dave and then Puck as if they were plastic cones.

"She's good," he told Puck, over her head. "Must have got your talent for more than just math."

"She's Quinn's too, remember," he said cheerfully. "She was always the one with the smokin' dance moves."

They played one on one for a bit, with Puck and Dave taking turns being either opponents or goal posts. Beth seemed not to need a break, she just kept running, and it was Puck who finally called a time-out. "Come on, kiddo," he panted with exaggerated fatigue. "Give your old man a break. I need to eat."

"But I don't know who won!" Beth protested.

"I'm pretty sure you did. Aren't you hungry?"

Dave looked at Puck. He kind of felt like siding with Beth on this one. "Aw, come on, we can't leave without knowing who won." He bent down over his stick and faced Beth. "Shootout? Goal's between your dad and that tree, three shots each or until we have a winner. The one who isn't shooting plays goalie."

Puck tried to be subtle about moving away from the tree whenever it was Beth's turn to shoot, but he wasn't exactly fooling anyone. Dave rolled his eyes, mouthing "cheater". Puck did the same back at him. "Come on, man, you're five times her size." And he had a point, so Dave just nodded, and Beth won four to three. She probably would have anyway.

They ended up at Chuck E Cheese for dinner. The pizza was like cardboard with a little sauce and cheese, but it was worth it to see Beth leaping into the great big ball pit and feeding quarters into the slot for nine more shots in Ski-Ball. She had great precision, but her enthusiasm tended to overwhelm her and the ball would go wild. Luckily she seemed to have the same good humor and attitude as her dad. When she made a mistake, she just tried something else and laughed harder.

Puck got a root beer and brought it back to the table while Beth rode on the spacecraft with the flashing lights. He sat on the bench next to Dave, leaning back on the table with both elbows. "I used to love this place when I was a kid. It looks a hell of a lot less shiny and awesome now than it did when I was seven, though."

"Yeah. It's weird coming back. It's like everything has shrunk, when really it's just that you got bigger." He watched Beth for a moment. "And for her it's still shiny, you know?"

"I do know," Puck nodded. "Having a kid, it's like you get to see everything all over again. The whole fucking world is shiny." He shook his head. "It's kind of amazing, Dave. I can't even tell you."

Dave looked at him. He thought maybe Puck must have some of those powers, too, if he could make a Lima Chuck E Cheese seem like anything but the godforsaken noisy hell Dave was pretty sure it really was.

Puck returned his gaze and smiled, a private smile, one that seemed way out of place for Chuck E Cheese. "She likes you." He took a swig of his root beer, then added, "I mean, not that I'm surprised or anything."

Dave smiled back, wondering for a moment what they looked like to the people around them. Two guys with one kid was unusual enough, and if any of what he was thinking showed on his face... they definitely weren't brother or buddy type of thoughts. He looked away from Puck's eyes and tried to harden his face a little.

Beth came running back over to them. "I won some tickets," she said. "Come on, help me spend them." She grabbed Dave's hand and tugged.

Dave cast a startled glance at Puck, but he just crossed his arms and gestured with his root beer. "Go on," he said, grinning. "Boring old Dad'll wait here."

Dave hesitated, but Beth was still holding his hand. Who cared about what people thought anyway. "All right." He got up and let Beth drag him away.

* * *

Dave had never been in Puck's house before, or at least he couldn't remember if he had, which spoke to the kind of not-friends they'd been back in middle school. But somehow it felt familiar, almost like Puck had told him all about it, simply by being in his life this past week, and now it was just part of him, like his truck or his daughter. He smiled at the pictures of Puck and his little sister on the wall of the hallway as Puck bellowed, "Sarah? We're here."

"Family room," he heard a girl's voice call. "Watch out for the model. It might eat you."

She hadn't been kidding. There was a building, halted mid-construction, sprawled across the dining room floor, cardboard and tape propped against the wall and up on chairs. Dave carefully picked his way around the model to find Puck's hazel eyes in a girl's face, gazing up at him upside-down from the couch.

"You're not Noah," she said, squinting at him. "You sure sounded like him a minute ago. What are you doing in my house?"

"Don't harass Dave, Sarah. He's already dealt with Shelby and Beth today. I think he might need a break."

She swiveled around to lean over the back of the couch, and grinned. That, too, looked incredibly familiar, even though it was framed by black curls and a face that was pretty in a completely different way from Puck's. "So  _you're_ the famous Dave."

" _Sarah..."_

"He talks about you  _all_  the time," she stage-whispered.

"What are you building?" Dave asked, trying to derail the conversation from certain disaster.

"Sancore Mosque, from Timbuktu -  _don't_ ask," she said, holding up one hand and wincing. Her nails were painted alternately purple and black. "My fucking history teacher thought it would be good enrichment for me. This is what I get for acing the pretest. Let's see if I ever do well again in  _her_  class."

"When's it due, squirt?" Puck said, tossing her the bag of chocolate-covered peanut-butter stuffed pretzels he'd picked up at the store. She snagged it out of the air without apparent effort.

"Thursday. But hell if I'm going to waste all week working on it. I'm getting it done and the fuck out of this house by Monday. I'm borrowing your truck, by the way - you can have the Honda for one day." She gestured at the TV. "I had to take a Disney break, though."

_Alice in Wonderland_  was on the television. "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense," Alice was saying. "Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

_I can relate to that,_  Dave thought, and glanced at Puck.

"Did you know the guy who wrote that book was a mathematician? Some people say parts of it is really making fun of modern geometry."

Sarah popped open the bag and took a handful of pretzels, passing them to Puck. "No kidding?"

"Yeah. It's really clever, actually. Like the Mad Hatter, when he's going on about no time, no time? Turns out there was this theory that came out around the same time as the book. Quaternions. Sort of like complex numbers, only with four terms instead of two." Dave looked at Puck, this was really more for his benefit than Sarah's. "And if the time term is missing, what you get stuck with is nothing but rotation, just like the tea party."

Puck wrinkled his nose, thinking. "So if the complex numbers are a plane, the - quaternions? - are like 3D space plus time?"

Dave nodded. "Sort of. They work well with the theory of relativity, things like that. Physics. But that's just one way to interpret it. I mean, they're mathematical objects. They sort of live...out there. And we just find a way to describe them."

"Way over my head," Sarah said, waving her hand. "Dude. You're harshing my Disney break."

Dave chuckled. "Sorry. I'll keep the algebra to myself from now on."

"You will  _not._ " Puck glared at Sarah and put a hand on Dave's arm. "Pay no attention to the stupid little sister."

"Honor roll, big brother," she said airily, turning back to the television.

"Whatever. Mathematically challenged little sister, then. Do I have to force you to sit through  _A Beautiful Mind_  again?"

Dave looked at Puck. "You forced her to watch that?" Then he turned to Sarah. "Not everyone who does math is a delusional schizophrenic, I promise."

"Pretty sure I live with one of those," she confided.

"Hey, that's a fucking awesome movie," Puck protested. He handed Dave one of the chocolate-covered peanut-butter monstrosities. "All right, then, tell me a good movie about math that doesn't have any... whatever you said."

Dave thought about it. There weren't that many great math movies, and most of them involved insanity in some form or another. " _Proof_. She only thinks she's crazy. And it's got Jake Gyllenhaal playing the professor. You'd like it."

Sarah and Puck glanced at each other. "Hot," they both said at the same time, then cracked up.

Dave avoided responding to that by eating the pretzel. It was probably a hundred calories all by itself, but he wasn't going to worry about it.

Puck managed to stream  _Proof_  from the digital video library. He made them butter-free popcorn, which was tolerable, and they lounged on the couch, all three of them in a row with their feet propped on the coffee table, Puck in the middle. Dave tried not to feel weird when Puck took his hand partway through the movie. He tried not to think about how much hotter Puck was than Jake Gyllenhaal, or to worry about whether or not Puck was going to want to  _do_  anything after the movie. It was a little distracting, the way he kept rubbing his thumb over Dave's, but he kept as still as he could, not wanting to bother Sarah.

At one point Dave saw a shadow pass between the television and the wall and disappear under the couch. Then, next to him atop the padded arm, a sleek black cat with amber eyes silently appeared. Dave reached out with one finger and let her smell him, then petted her smooth fur.

Puck did a honest-to-God double-take. Dave didn't think those actually existed outside of film and literature.

"Holy shit," he said in an awed whisper, nudging his sister. "Sarah."

She glanced over, eyes round. "Dude," she said. "Your boyfriend's, like, a cat-whisperer."

"Penumbra is scared to death of everybody," Puck told him. "Except me and Sarah. She never comes out when people are here."

Dave withdrew his hand, and Penumbra leaned her neck forward, delicately sniffing him, before climbing down onto his lap and curling into a glossy ebony oval. Puck let out an amazed chuckle and leaned against Dave, scratching behind the cat's ear.

"It's a sign," he said quietly, smirking. "Now I  _have_  to keep you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for angst and more angst, and some unexpected angst.   
> -amy and penthea

 

The truck seemed a lot smaller on the way back to Columbus on Sunday morning, especially with the radio on and Puck's incessant  _talking_  about every little fucking thing. Dave didn't get why he didn't just  _think_  about these things instead of saying them out loud.

He glanced across the cab at Dave in the passenger seat. "So you ready for tomorrow morning? Prep work to do, that kind of thing?"

"Yeah. Why?" He didn't even care that he'd answered an either-or question with yes, it wasn't like Puck was really listening.

"I don't know, I thought maybe we could catch a movie. Besides math and Disney, what's your genre of choice? I'm kind of an action adventure guy, but I can go with intrigue or -"

Dave sighed. "Look, I... I have work to do for my own classes too, all right? I'm still a student."

"Hey, it's no problem. I could go to the library or whatever." He fiddled with the radio, switching stations.

Dave tried to breathe. He really didn't want to say something he'd regret later, but he was starting to feel itchy and annoyed and everything was too loud. He reached out and turned off the radio, almost pushing Puck's hand out of the way. "You can go wherever you want. You don't have to ask my permission first."

Puck grew very still. His hands on the steering wheel flexed, his knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice was mild. "Okay, man. How about I drop you off at your house? I have some shit I need to take care of anyway."

Dave thought maybe he should be worried about that, or something, but all he felt was relief. An empty, quiet house sounded really good right now.

The rest of the ride essentially passed in silence. Dave didn't know if Puck was thinking or merely not talking, but it kind of didn't matter to him right at that moment. When they got to the house, Puck opened the back for him and Dave got his bike out on his own.

"See you in class," Puck said, and slammed the hatch closed. Dave watched him as he climbed back into the truck and pulled out of the driveway without another word. He didn't seem angry, though, or worried, so Dave didn't try to stop him or say goodbye. It was a little weird, sure, but Puck didn't seem to have a problem speaking his mind most of the time. If he seemed okay, Dave would take him at face value.

Pascal was winding around his legs, looking for love, or at least food, when he came in the door. Dave's guilt came to the forefront and he picked him up, petting his head and scratching his chest and neck.

"No, he went home," he said. "Don't worry. He'll be back. Soon."

Puck didn't call him that night. Dave finished all his homework for his other classes, did his prep work for Monday and watched an episode of Mythbusters, and even then it was only nine o'clock. He finished his prep for Thursday as well and tried to read ahead in his complex analysis coursepack, but eventually he gave up and went to bed. He was exhausted, anyway, after a weekend of staying up late and waking early.

Dave sprawled out on the mattress, suddenly conscious of how much space there was around him. He tossed and turned, moving from the side to the middle and even lying diagonally for a while before finally ending up in his usual place. At some point Pascal tiptoed in and settled into a remote bundle at the foot of the bed. That made things feel a little more normal, but he still didn't fall asleep.

"You cold?" he asked Pascal at one point, but he wasn't responding. Dave considered getting up to get a second blanket, but eventually he just went to sleep.

Puck was the third student in the door Monday morning, but aside from a brief nod, he didn't communicate with Dave at all. Dave tried to focus on his teaching, but whenever he would turn around to face the class, he found himself looking for some eye contact from Puck, just a sign, something to let him know that everything was normal - or as normal as things had been for the past week, anyway. Puck appeared to be listening and taking notes, but he didn't raise his hand, and he didn't look at Dave once.

Dave supposed he couldn't complain. Wasn't this what he'd wanted from Puck all along: for him to keep their relationship out of the classroom? And if Puck needed to avoid his eyes to do it, didn't Dave owe it to him to respect that? He finished the class a few minutes early. Everything went a little faster without Puck's actually meaningful questions, or his answers, always a little more complicated than Dave had asked for. It made the other students seem a bit slow. He sighed. "I think that's it for today. Please try to read chapter five before our next class, so we can clear up any questions then. See you on Thursday."

Puck packed up his notebook and text and slung his backpack over his shoulder, walking to the back of the lecture hall and heading out the rear door. Dave wasn't about to follow him, or call after him, and he wasn't expecting Puck to bring him coffee again or anything like that, but it seemed strange for Puck not to at least say good morning after the things they'd done all weekend together.

Nobody showed up for Dave's office hours. The rest of his morning passed uneventfully, and Dave was surprised to discover it was nearly lunchtime.

He did all the things he usually did, trying to get back in touch with real life. He'd thought that getting away from Puck would clear his head, and it had, in a way, but it didn't really seem to be helping. He'd thought that Puck being away would let him get some perspective on what had happened, maybe he'd see more clearly from a bit of a distance, but it turned out it was almost impossible to recall his feelings from yesterday once they weren't there, like trying to remember in January what uncomfortably hot sunshine felt like. He thought about Puck all the time, and it made him angry, how Puck had taken away Dave's old comfortable reality and replaced it with his own. And it might not even matter that he liked that one, because just as he'd been afraid of, when Puck wasn't there he took it with him and Dave was left with nothing.

He was frustrated by how hard it was to get back into his routine. It didn't make any sense, considering he'd been doing all the same things for at least a year: going to work, riding his bike, shopping, relaxing at home, eating three meals. Going to bed. The only difference was, he was aware now that he was doing them alone. But alone was  _fine;_ alone was  _easy_ and  _comfortable._  Alone meant you didn't have to answer anybody else when they talked, or listen when they said something. Alone was not having to worry about anyone's opinion but your own; alone was no disappointed looks and no pointed questions.

Monday evening felt a lot like Sunday evening. He got all his work done, took care of everything he needed to do for the next day, and then watched the clock creep inexorably toward bedtime. It got there, albeit very, very slowly. He almost called Puck, but he changed his mind. He still didn't know what was going on, who he even was anymore, and talking to Puck now would be like giving in and going back to the start. Besides, Puck hadn't seemed like he wanted to talk to him.

Tuesday he felt a little bit more like himself, but there was still something missing, there was no denying the Puck-shaped hole in his life that hadn't been there a few days ago. Dave had worked damn hard for his structural integrity, he didn't need any more holes, and if it was this bad after a few days, how would he function after weeks or months? Fuck. He went for a long bike ride, trying to tire himself out enough to make his brain shut up. It didn't really work, so he stayed up late just for the hell of it, watching movies on the couch with Pascal. Just for a change in routine. The only thing it did was make him tired and cranky the next day.

Wednesday he saw a bunch of kids playing field hockey in the park on his bike ride, and he stopped and watched them for twenty minutes before continuing on his way. When he got home, he collapsed on the couch, just lying there and breathing with his eyes closed until Pascal interrupted his panicking by laying down on his chest.

Dave lifted his head an inch and dropped it again, stroking Pascal's back. "I know, I'm being useless. Sorry, buddy." Pascal meowed in agreement. "See, you haven't known me long enough to tell, but when I care too much about what other people think, I kind of suck. I do better when it's just me. And you, I guess, cats are okay. I don't know why. It's not like you don't judge me."

Pascal didn't comment.

"So now I have a boyfriend, apparently, except maybe I don't anymore, because I fucked up and we haven't talked for days. Yeah, I know. I can't, okay? Fuck, I have no idea."

He finally managed to get off the couch and into the shower. He was hungry, but dinner was too much work, so he ate some cottage cheese on toast and called it a day. Pascal watched him skeptically from the counter. Dave rolled his eyes at him. "Dude, you eat cat food." Pascal seemed to concede that point, and they went to bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night from a really interesting dream that involved fractals, but when he tried to remember the details, it receded into hazy memory, and then disappeared altogether, leaving him feeling oddly wistful. And turned on, but he knew how to take care of that.

* * *

Puck didn't show up for class on Thursday morning. Dave kept glancing around the classroom, thinking he must have just missed him, and he was hidden behind another student - never mind there were only eighteen in the class - but no, he really wasn't there. In a way, Dave barely felt like he was there, himself, his mind racing with unfortunate possibilities and disturbing images: Puck sick in bed, Puck stranded on the side of the road, Puck hanging upside-down from his seat belt with blood streaming from the jagged, ugly contusion on his scalp.

He got through the class somehow, unable to pretend he cared about isomorphisms or the operations they preserved, because either something bad had happened, or Dave had chased him away.

Dave didn't really even think about what he was doing until he'd placed the call and he heard the answering ring, and then Puck was saying, "Uh, hang on a second."

"Are you okay? You weren't in class, so I thought..." He didn't finish the sentence. Now that he heard Puck's voice, obviously alive and well, his visions of traffic accidents and hospitals seemed really stupid. He probably just hadn't wanted to see Dave. And who could blame him?

"Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm over in the registrar's office right now."

"The registrar's office? Why?" Dave thought he could guess, but he hoped he was wrong. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of.

"I figured it might just be easier if I changed courses. I mean..." He cleared his throat. "I don't want it to be a problem. For you."

"For me? What are you talking about, for me? I'm not the one - God, Puck, I'm so sorry I didn't call, please don't - just, wait, and let me talk to you first. We can...this shouldn't keep you from taking the class."

Puck sounded tired and irritated. "Look, Dave, it's not a big deal. It's fine if this didn't work out. You don't have to say anything else."

Dave took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think I do. I mean, if you - if you don't want me to be anything other than your teacher, I can do that, but it kind of seemed like - I need to apologize, either way. I needed some space, and I should have told you that. Not just disappeared." He paused. Puck wasn't responding, but better to just get it out before he lost his nerve. "Look, I guess it's my turn to - I'll make this really clear. I want this to work out. I was overwhelmed, and I needed some space, but I want to see you again. As more than your teacher." He took another break to breathe. "And I'm still really, really sorry, and I was hoping you'd give me the chance to tell you in person. If you...if you can still do that. So...yeah."

It hit him suddenly that Puck was probably still standing in the registrar's office, maybe trying to talk to someone else, and Dave had just talked at him without even bothering to ask if it was a good time or if he wanted to hear it. At least Puck hadn't hung up on him, but that might just be shock.

"Dave... um. I don't really know what... I mean,  _yeah,_  I do. I do want that."

Dave closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, finally coming down from the adrenaline rush. "You do?" he whispered into the phone. "Can we...can we talk? When you're done?"

"I think I'm done now. For now, anyway. But... what the  _fuck,_  Dave? I figured you were -" Dave heard a small, frustrated noise, and it didn't sound like Puck at all. "I mean, what  _was_  that? Three days of nothing? Did I do something, say something... ?"

"No. God, no. You were just...I mean...I don't know if I can do this over the phone. Can I meet you outside the building or something?"

"Yeah... yeah, that's fine. I'm parked outside Chubb Hall. I'll meet you at my truck in a few minutes."

"Yeah, okay. I'm going over there now." Dave had already started walking.

"Are you..." Puck's voice dropped, hoarse and uncertain. "Are we okay?"

Dave slowed down, trying to catch his breath. He had no fucking idea if he was okay, but he really wanted Puck to be. "Yeah. I mean, if you want...we'll be okay. Just...two minutes." He walked faster. He'd be shaking if he tried to stand still, his hands already were, and he didn't know how far away Puck might be, but he didn't want him to have to wait. He'd waited long enough.

"Okay. I'll be there." He hung up.

Somehow being on the phone was easier, because as soon as their call ended, Dave started thinking again. He didn't exactly know where it had started, but clearly something had gone very, very wrong. What if this happened again? How was Puck going to ever trust him to stick around now? Maybe he shouldn't. He wasn't equipped to deal with a  _relationship._

He turned the corner.

Puck was leaning against the side of his truck, arms crossed, examining a spot in the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe.

Dave walked over to him. He wasn't sure what to do, didn't know if he trusted himself to do anything at all without going way too far for a public sidewalk. Then Puck looked up and saw him, and his eyes softened, and a tiny smile crossed his lips. He dropped his arms and took a step forward. "Hey," he said.

He couldn't...but of all the things he couldn't, leaving Puck there like that was somehow more impossible. He stepped closer, and his arms went around Puck's waist to...he didn't know what they were doing there, he didn't even know how that happened.

Puck's eyes were intense on his face, watching him as he drew near, and as Dave's hands made contact, he let out a long, soft sigh. His eyelids dropped closed.

Dave stood there feeling his warm back under his hands, and after what felt like a long time but was probably only a second, he looked up. "Hey."

Puck's breathing was ragged, and Dave could feel him shaking under his skin, but his eyes were dry. He tipped his forehead forward, and Dave did the same, until they were touching. "I don't really know how, like, maybe you live in a region with different fucking gravitational potential or something, but... those three days? Longer than ten years. Let's never do that again, okay?"

Dave pulled him closer, moving his hand up to get a better grip, to feel that he was solid, to hold him together. "Never again, I promise. God, I'm so sorry."

"You sure? Cause I don't know if I can -" He choked off the rest. Then he added, almost angrily, "I mean, dude, if you're gonna break up with me, at least  _call me_  and do it. I don't want to be hanging out there, thinking -  _Fuck."_

"I know. I'm sure. If I ever..." he stroked Puck's back, almost wanting to laugh because this was horrible, and it was perfect, and this was the least romantic promise and by far the biggest he had ever made to anyone. "If I ever, I can't believe I'm saying this, if I ever need to...I'll call you. I mean, I won't, but...damn. I will never just leave you. I promise."

Puck touched Dave's neck, right at the collar of his shirt, with one finger. His voice was low and full of confusion. "I tried not to make it a big deal. I told you it wasn't. But... it was. It is _,_  and that really  _sucks._ "

Dave nodded. "Yeah. I know." He sounded the way he felt, weak and useless.

Puck clenched his jaw. "It's a lot harder, because I care if you call back or not. Because it's  _you._ Because you matter, okay?" He shook his head. "I don't fucking know what to do with that."

"Okay." Dave lifted his hand to touch him, then dropped it again. "Shit. Me too." Puck looked kind of close to breaking, and Dave had no idea what to do, because he was coming up against his own limitations here. Maybe if they could at least get off the street. He gestured at the truck. "You want to take this somewhere else? Like my house? Are you okay to drive?"

Puck gave him a scornful look and pulled away. "Yeah, I can fucking  _drive,_  Karofsky."

The name hung between them in the air, like a slap. They just stared at each other for a moment.

He could have been pissed. He wanted to, but he was so afraid of what would happen if he did, if that would be the final break that couldn't be fixed. Dave let his shoulders drop and looked away. "Okay, great. You ready to go?" He started walking around to the passenger side without waiting for an answer. He was about to get in when he remembered that the door didn't open from the outside. Shit. Thank God he'd thought of that before he tried to pull it open.

Puck climbed into the cab and sat there in the driver's seat, staring at his hands. Then he reached across and opened the door for Dave.

Okay, that was good. He climbed in and glanced over at Puck. "Thanks," he mumbled, low enough that it might just have been a loud breath, Puck might not even have heard him.

Puck had never been good at hiding his feelings. Even when Dave couldn't tell exactly what they were, he could see them there, right on the surface. Right now he looked like he was in physical pain. But he was also clearly pissed, and Dave wasn't sure how to deal with both of those at the same time.

Finally he let out a loud sigh and turned the key in the ignition. "Tell me where."

Dave was silent. He'd said it once, so Puck asking again might mean  _no_. But where the hell else would they go? This really wasn't a conversation to have around other people. "My house? You know where it is."

"You sure you want me there?"

Dave looked down. Of course Puck wouldn't want to be stuck on his home ground. "Yeah. But if you don't want to, I get that. No problem."

He hit the steering wheel. The impact was loud in the cab, and Dave flinched. "Yes, it's a fucking  _problem,"_  Puck shouted. "It's a  _big_ problem. Because I  _want to._  I want to  _way fucking too much._ "

Oh. Yeah, okay, that was a problem, or at least that reaction was, but it wasn't the one he'd expected and he had no idea what to do with hurt, angry Puck yelling about wanting things to much. Damn, this was hard. "And what the fuck do you want me to do about that?" He dropped his head into his hands.

"Nothing. You don't have to do anything." He shot Dave one hurt glance. "I can take care of myself."

No. Shit, that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Dave straightened up and grabbed his arm. "No. No, listen to me. You want this too much? You don't think I don't? Why the hell do you think I didn't talk to you for three days?"

He jerked his arm away. "Because this is way too much work for you. Because I'm a fucking mess, Dave. You don't want to deal with this. Trust me."

Dave stared at him. None of it was untrue. None of it mattered, even a little bit. "Why don't you let me decide what I want to deal with or not."

Puck shook his head in irritation. "No. It doesn't work that way. I'm not a fucking girl, sitting around waiting for you to call me. I've got my own life. You don't get to play with my - it isn't your decision, Dave."

Why, why, why hadn't he understood what a big fucking mistake that had been. "I know you do, that's why I just promised you never, ever to do it again. And if you want to believe that, if you want to take that chance, that's totally your call. You get to say no, any time."

Puck closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I know." He pulled out of his parking space and edged the truck into traffic. Everything seemed okay. He wasn't going too fast. Puck was just... cold. Dave watched him drive out of the corner of his eye.

Puck had good reasons to be mad at him. He'd been an idiot. And just because Dave wanted - and God, did he want - if he wanted to hold him and kiss him and keep him safe, if he'd take him with all his fucked up everything and try his very, very best, even if it wasn't enough - that didn't mean he had the right, or that Puck had to let him. He'd told him he could say no, and he'd meant it, and Puck had made it clear he wasn't a  _fucking girl_  for Dave to take care of. Yes, he was pissed that Puck thought he could tell him not to want that - and also, ridiculously, cruelly, it made him want it even more - but he got it. It was a stupid fucking reason, but he understood.

He bit his lip and kept quiet until they were pulling up in front of his house.

They stopped in Dave's driveway and Puck climbed out of the truck. Dave got out on the other side, and they met in front of the door. Puck was shifting from foot to foot like he didn't even know if he wanted to be there, but at least he still was. That had to count for something. Dave unlocked the door and opened it, waiting, wanting Puck to step inside by himself.  _Prove to me that you want to be here. Give me a sign that this is okay._  He didn't, though, so eventually Dave walked through the door himself, giving it a little push to keep it open behind him. Puck followed.  _Thank God_.

There wasn't a lot of light in the hallway, and Puck was standing there looking small and lost and not at all the way he had the last time they'd been here. Dave couldn't take it anymore.  _Please forgive me,_  he thought.  _Please give him the strength to push me away. Please don't let him want to._  He pulled Puck into his arms, one hand around his head and the other on his back, whispering against the soft skin of his neck, and he didn't even know what he was saying, but it had something to do with  _please_  and  _sorry_  and  _never again._

And Puck, Puck was shaking all over, taking great big breaths and choking them out and starting again. He didn't seem to be able to say anything at all, but his hands clung to Dave, tight and desperate, and he buried his face in Dave's chest. Dave's shirt was warm and wet where Puck's cheeks brushed against him.

Dave didn't know if that meant he was doing the right thing, or if he'd broken him, or what, but either way he had him here, now, falling apart in his arms. And it wasn't that he wanted that, he'd never want Puck to hurt like that, and even less be the one to cause it, but still, in a guilty corner of his mind he was a little bit grateful that it was his chest Puck was crying into, that he'd let Dave see this, that he needed him. He moved his arms to the outside of Puck's, keeping them pinned down between them so he could hold all of him at once.

Puck made a low moan and twisted in Dave's grip, pressing his body full against him, and Dave could feel exactly how turned on he was. "You're completely fucking insane for wanting this, Dave," he muttered. "Why would you - god, you don't deserve this."

It hadn't been about that, but then Puck was pushing against him and his perspective shifted and it completely, absolutely was. And what did Puck mean he didn't deserve this, he was right, but not the way he meant it. Damn. He pulled Puck closer, so he couldn't even move, because he needed to hear this, and bent down towards his ear. "You have no idea, do you? You're way better than anything I deserve, and so what if I'm insane, if you're letting me have this? I'm taking it."

He didn't want to let Puck go even for a moment, but he needed his hands, because Puck was still burying his face in Dave's neck. He slid his hands up to Puck's shoulders, gripping those firmly for just a moment as if to say  _I'm still here_ , and then he took his head in both hands, splayed them out and grabbed his face, tilting it up so he could see him. Puck's eyes were big and dark, his cheeks still a little wet. He was the most gorgeous gut-wrenching thing Dave had ever seen. He kissed one cheekbone, then the other. It tasted salty.

"Puck. Noah." There was a question there, and probably some kind of a confession, too, only he couldn't get any of it out. It didn't matter, though, because Puck seemed to know, and he nodded, a tiny jerk upwards that Dave felt through his hands more than he really saw it. And that was enough, that was all he needed. He bent his knees so he could catch Puck's mouth from below, he didn't know why that mattered, but it did, and pulled him up into a deep, possessive kiss.

And then Puck was kissing him back, almost desperately, moaning into his mouth and twisting and grabbing and thrusting and generally not staying still for one damn second. Dave let his hands fall from Puck's face down to his hips, keeping them steady without allowing them too far away from his own. The effect might have been greater if he hadn't been gasping and obviously struggling to make himself pull away from that absolutely fucking perfect kiss.

"Hey. I've got you, okay? Not going anywhere." As happy as Dave was with what they were doing, it seemed suddenly very important that Puck knew that. That he didn't have to grasp at Dave like he was the last lifeboat and might go down any moment. Once they were clear on that, he could go back to clinging, that would be fine, but for now...he held Puck tight against his body and kissed his face, needing to calm the wild look in his eyes down to something just hungry, except maybe that was impossible, he really had no damn clue, this was all instinct and he just hoped that would somehow be enough. He took a deep breath. No turning back now, no need to turn back, he had Puck in his arms and melting against his chest, so obviously needy that whatever Dave could give him must be better than nothing, and if that wasn't permission he was never going to get it.

"Puck. It's okay. We're okay. And unless you tell me to stop, I'm going to take you upstairs now and do all the things to you that I couldn't stop thinking about all fucking week."

Puck just looked at him, wide-eyed.

Dave managed a half smile, despite the weight of whatever the hell he was doing here. "Blink once for yes, twice for no? Come on, give me  _something_."

Puck tried to reply, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Dave... god,  _yes._ A whole lot of  _yes._  I'm not telling you to stop." He closed his eyes. "I won't ever tell you that."

Dave took him in his arms again and kissed him and kissed him and he'd never get enough of kissing him, but he needed to get him to the bedroom at some point, too, because the hallway was fine and there was a carpet and everything and it would do for sex, but it wasn't really the place to take a beautiful, broken boy, the biggest fucking miracle that ever happened to you, and love him and put him back together, and any parts of Dave that weren't man enough to admit that was what he was doing could just shut the fuck up and go away and let him get this done.

He led Puck up the stairs, and into the bedroom, and sat him down on the edge of the bed. He thought about stopping to extract one last promise from him that he still knew the word  _no_  and would use it if he needed to, but he didn't think he'd get anything useful and he just had to trust him, trust himself, that they would be okay.

Puck was watching him, paying careful attention to every little thing that Dave was doing. The wild look was beginning to fade from his eyes, and now it seemed as though he were moving slowly, in a kind of trance. He touched Dave's wrist, his neck, the inside of his elbow, tentatively, as though he might disappear any second. When he put his hands on the hem of his own shirt, beginning to take it off, Dave stopped him.

"Let me do that," he said, and Puck nodded silently.

Dave moved in close and pulled the shirt gently over his head. Once it was off, he threw it aside and focused on Puck, and the skin he'd uncovered. He crawled to kneel behind him, kissed his way down from neck to shoulder, followed the smooth line of the collarbone with his fingers. "Okay?" he murmured, leaning forward against Puck's back and putting his arms around his waist, letting one hand wander a bit up and down his chest.

Dave's breathing was slow and deep now, and with each exhalation he relaxed a little further, folding back into the support of Dave's body. "Yeah," he sighed, reaching back over his shoulder and cupping Dave's head in one hand. "Very okay. Better than okay."

Dave thought about getting his own shirt off, but that would mean letting go of Puck, so it would have to wait a little bit longer. "Okay. Good. I want you to be. God, you're beautiful." He let his hand slide down Puck's abs to unbutton his pants, but he couldn't do it with one hand. He shifted a bit to reach with his other arm. "Hang on." He was suddenly nervous. Like this was the first time he'd ever done that. And of course it wasn't, but somehow it felt like a really, really big deal. It seemed to take forever, but he finally got the button open, and Puck was just allowing this, letting Dave push his pants down and lift him up to get him out of them, and it was clumsy and awkward and somehow still okay.

Puck touched his hand suddenly. "I'm sorry."

Dave stopped what he was doing. "Sorry? About what?"

"You... last week. You told me. You want me to tell you what I  _want,_  but I'm... I just want you to  _do_ things. To me." He rested his head back on Dave's shoulder and sighed. "So I'm sorry. For being such a -"

"No you're not. I don't even know what you're thinking right now, but you're not." Dave let Puck slide next to him on the bed and propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at him. "I asked you to tell me what you wanted. And you just did. Thank you." He leaned over to kiss him again. "It's fine. You're amazing. I'd love to do things to you. I just need to know that that's what you want."

"Yes," he whispered, staring up at Dave. "Yes. That's... that's what I want. It's what I always wanted."

Keep breathing, Dave reminded himself. He wanted that, too, he was a little floored by how much he wanted it, and now that he had it, he didn't quite know where to start. He bent down and kissed Puck's neck. "All right. Hang on." He moved down the bed to where Puck's pants and underwear were still tangled around his legs, and pulled them off. Then he got rid of his own clothes, as quickly as possible because Puck was lying there all naked and alone, waiting for him. He got back on the bed and climbed on top of him, covering him with his own body, eliciting a groan from Puck.

"God, why do you feel so incredible?" He ran his hands up Dave's back and across his shoulders. "I don't get it. I just can't get enough of touching you."

Dave didn't really have an answer for that, so he just let him touch, resting his head on the bed above Puck's shoulder. "Yeah. You too. So good." If he turned his head just a little, he could kiss his neck, so he did, little ones at first, but then he got lost in Puck's skin and it was all one messy, aimless, open-mouthed kiss, moving from one perfect spot to another.

Puck's groan transformed into a series of increasingly intense cries, with Dave's name tucked in between them. With each one, his hips thrust up against Dave's, grinding, seeking stimulation. "Holy shit, Dave," he gasped.

Dave never wanted to let go of Puck's neck, but it was hard to ignore the rest of him when it was twisting and grinding against him like that. He put one hand on the bed and the other on Puck's arm, and pushed himself up a little, just enough to look down on his face. "You..." - he was sure there was something he'd been planning to say, or do, but Puck's hips were still moving - "you." That was really all there was, anyway, the only important part.

Puck reached one hand up to grip Dave's shoulder. His eyes were wide, the pupils enormous. "Tell me this is really okay," he begged. "For me to - to want you this much."

And there it was again, that need to just hold him, to wrap him up and keep him safe and never let him go. Dave lowered himself down on one elbow, resting lightly on Puck's chest and cradling his head with his arm. "Yeah. It's okay. You - god, Puck, I want you too. I want you so much. And, I mean - I think - I love you, okay? I think that must be what this is, and I just, I know that's a lot, but...it's so okay."

Dave could feel him shaking again, and he looked up quickly, anxious. Puck squeezed his eyes shut, the tears leaking out around the lids and trailing along his cheekbones toward his ears. His hand came down, fumbling, and landed on Dave's cheek. "You have...  _no idea..._  how long I've been wanting to tell you that. And I thought there was no way... Dave." He laughed weakly. "There was no way you were going to handle that. And now - here  _you_  are, telling  _me,_ and I'm - no, I'm not freaking out, really. It's good. Just give me a second."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Had he really said that? Yes, he really had, and it was  _fine_ , Puck was still here, and so was Dave, and saying it hadn't made it go away, if anything, there was more. He laughed, then put his hand over Puck's, on his own cheek. "Was that a second? Because...like you said, I'm here, and you're here, and I love you." It was kind of amazing, saying it out loud. He threw himself across Puck, planting kisses all over his chest, and this was ridiculous, but nobody was stopping him. "And you're naked. And I love you."

"All right, fuck, man, now I need  _another_  second." Puck was still laughing, the tension falling away, and his eyes were crinkling at the corners. "Hearing you say that." He shook his head and chewed on his lip. "I want to say it to you... but..."

"But I'm an idiot. I know." He ran his hand down Puck's side. How had he not known he needed this, how had he thought he could be better off without it?

"No, babe." Puck tugged Dave down on top of him, until they were nose to nose. "I want you inside me when I say it."

Dave rested his forehead on Puck's, trying to remember to keep breathing. "Fuck. Yes."

Shit, he'd have to move, wouldn't he? He was holding Puck's head in his hands again. Because that was where it belonged. He sat up to straddle him, waiting until the last possible moment to let go, dragging his fingers along his skin. Puck leaned into his touch, smiling, his eyes closed.

So then of course Dave had to lean down and kiss him again. "Be right back," he whispered, stretching himself across the bed to reach the nightstand in a move that was really, really inefficient, but allowed at least his legs to still touch Puck. God, what was wrong with him. He got himself back on top of him, needing that physical contact, because obviously sitting up, even if it was actually  _on_  Puck, was way too far away. Judging by his noises of satisfaction when Dave returned, Puck agreed with him.

Dave moved slowly down his body, still lying on top of him, still not giving up a single square inch of skin. He kissed Puck's chin, and his throat, and the dip between his collar bones, and in between he mouthed the embarrassing things he couldn't quite say yet into his skin, maybe they'd seep through the muscle and bone to his heart somehow, and damn, that was sappy, but he didn't even care. "You're beautiful," he whispered, "and I'm so sorry."

"God," murmured Puck, arching his back into Dave's kisses. "I just want you so much. And - I get why you needed some space. I'll try to be more careful about making sure you get that. I'm not trying to take over your life here. I just want to be part of it, you know?"

Dave was holding him, hugging his torso and talking to his breastbone and the last thing he wanted in the whole world was space, but he understood, in a remote corner of his brain, that he might again at some point. Much, much later. "You will be. I want you to be. I'll always want to come back to you."

Dave felt Puck's hands stroking his back, his neck. "I'll always be waiting for you." He chuckled. "I kind of feel like I've been doing that, all this time. Waiting for you."

He laid his head sideways on Puck's chest, one hand flat on his firm stomach, feeling him breathe. "God, you have no idea." Every step of the way, Puck had been there, even when he hadn't seen him for years, and how hadn't he  _known_. But if he had, what difference would it have made? He would never have believed he was going to get this, for real. He was feeling Puck's heartbeat, right now, and he still didn't quite believe it.

"I think I kind of do. I've thought it for years. But it's... god, it's just not something you  _say_  out loud _._  'You're a nice enough person, but I think I'm in love with this one guy I made out with once in seventh grade, and you're not him, so I'm moving on?' Fuck. No." He laughed. "Who's going to believe that?"

Dave smiled. "No. I know." He looked up at Puck. "But you really thought that? You were... in love with me?" It wasn't fair to ask, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself.

He felt Puck's shrug. "I don't know - I mean, how much of that shit do you really know when you're thirteen? All I know is I kept looking for - that. The thing we had. I wanted more of... that. Of this. I just didn't know where to find it." He shook his head, clearly amused. "I'm such a dumbass. I mean,  _here you are."_

Dave reached up to touch his cheek. "Hey. You're not. I'm here now, and I'm not letting you get away with that."

Puck looked confused. "With... with what?"

"Saying you're a dumbass. You're not, you're not stupid; you're smart and gorgeous and amazing and you're mine, and I'm not allowing anyone to call you that, not even you."

Dave watched Puck move through startled to alarmed, and finally to stunned. He licked his lips. "Uh. Okay?" He smiled hesitantly. "Really?"

Dave had to stop for a moment and think back, going over what he'd actually said. But he didn't find a single word he hadn't meant. "Uh, yes. Really. I mean..." He was about to ask Puck if that was okay with him, but something told him not to leave even that little bit of uncertainty. "No, I really mean that. Every word."

There was no fear left in Puck's eyes. Whatever anxiety he'd been feeling had apparently receded before the tide of raw emotion that was flowing between the two of them. Dave thought it could have easily have felt silly and trite, but it didn't, not even a little bit.

"I think... I'm not even sure if I  _should_  want that." He gazed down at Dave, eyes shining. "But I guess I do. And if you want it, too, then that's... that's okay, right?"

Dave kissed him, pretty much just pressing his mouth down for a moment right where he was, and stroked his cheek again. "I told you. Yes. It's okay. Anything you want, it's okay. It's perfect."

Puck nodded, blinking. "Okay. I guess I'll have to trust you on that one."

Dave looked at him. He wasn't even sure what it was he was doing, here, what exactly it was that was such a huge deal for Puck that he reacted like that  _now_. He'd already told him he loved him, wasn't this just part of that, just more of the same? "Yeah, you will. Because I love you, and I want you, and you're  _mine_."

He couldn't resist throwing that in there, because of that amazing response it seemed to elicit from Puck: eyes wide, rocking back and trembling. "Fuck," he muttered.

Dave shook his head. "Puck, you're everything I ever wanted, you're more, how could it not be okay?"

"Because." Puck screwed up his face in concentration, as though Dave were some kind of really complicated algebraic structure. "Because," he said at last, "all my life, people have been telling me it's not okay for me to want that. It's not something you want, if you're... a guy like me."

Dave still didn't completely know what they were talking about, and talking hadn't really been the plan, but he felt like he had to get this first, if he was going to do right by Puck. It seemed important. He gathered Puck in his arms again, holding him steady. Damn, he loved that feeling, shoulders and arms and all of him completely encircled by Dave. How Dave could hold all of him, how that broad back was contained by his hands, how he was big and strong and powerful, and when he went so small under him, Dave knew it was something he chose.

He held Puck's gaze. "Puck. What? Tell me. What exactly is it you want that you think you shouldn't have? Or want, or whatever?"

Puck was absolutely still, held fast in the container of Dave's arms. He hesitated, and Dave said again, insistently, "Tell me."

"Having you, telling me that," Puck said. "Being all those things you said. It's like you really think them - that I'm smart, and gorgeous, and amazing. And... and yours." He closed his eyes.

"Puck. Of course I really think them. I don't - I really don't say that kind of thing. You know that. So when I do...I mean it."

"You see me," he whispered. "You see... all of me. Even the shit I'm not proud of, and somehow you... you turn it all into something amazing. It's like I'm not even the same person, when you look at me. I'm, like the person I always  _wanted_  to be." He gave his head a little baffled shake. "How do you  _do_  that?"

"I don't need to do anything. I just look at you, and there you are. And you're pretty fucking amazing."

"I want to be," he said, eyes still closed. "I want to be all the things you see. I just don't know... sometimes I can't be sure I'm just not doing a really good job at faking you out. Not like I mean to - I'm not trying to lie to you."

Dave kissed his cheek. "Shhh. I know. You're not. Hey, look at me." Puck's eyes opened, startled, and he gazed at Dave in silence. "Babe, you can't fake those things. It doesn't work that way."

Puck swallowed, shaking his head, but Dave just smiled at him. "You're going to be fine. I'll take care of everything."

He put a little gentle pressure on Puck's shoulder, pushing him flat on the bed, and Puck watched him as he stroked a path from his neck, down his chest to his stomach, and lower. Puck's eyelids fluttered closed, but Dave said, "No - keep your eyes open. I want you to be right here, with me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Puck said, but he looked a little nervous.

It was still a little surprising to Dave that Puck actually wanted him to touch him this way, but he really didn't seem to have a problem with it. On the contrary, it was definitely getting a positive reaction from him. Dave watched as Puck spread his legs wide, wrapping them around Dave's, and pulled him in close.

"This is what I want," said Dave. "You know that, right?"

He was pleased to see Puck smile. "Yeah, I can kind of tell."

There was no question whether or not either of them was enjoying what they were doing. Dave shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He managed to get the cap off the lube and made himself slick without losing Puck's gaze. "I want this with  _you_. For real." Like there was any way to do this and not have it be real. "Not just, you know...this." He touched two slippery fingers between Puck's legs, and reveled in the sound of his gasp.

"Definitely this, though, right?" Puck asked breathlessly.

Dave smiled. "Yes. Definitely this."

This had been so scary, the last time, too much in every way, Puck too close and everything too real. And now it just seemed right, like he could look into Puck's eyes and know that he'd already seen him, and been seen back, and there was no detail of their naked bodies that could be too much after that. As much as it was shaking him up, he wanted it, he wanted to get used to this. Even before he'd really done it, he knew he'd want to do it again. He wanted every step on the way, from these new and magical, reverent touches, to one day, hopefully, easy and comfortable and no less amazing, because he could never imagine being tired of this.

Dave replaced his fingers with his body, pressing into Puck a little at a time, and it was perfect, it was just exactly right. "Right here," he whispered. "This is where I want to be."

Puck's response to this was incredible. Dave felt him open up to him, all at once, and with a tremendous sigh, he was inside him completely. "God, Dave." Puck's voice was broken, but he was smiling. "I love you so much."

Dave looked down at him, stunned. He knew, he'd been promised, he didn't think it would be so different hearing the actual words, but it was. "Love you too," he finally managed.

It wasn't the first time Dave had done this, of course, but all of a sudden it really  _was._  Because this was the first time that he, Dave, had ever  _made love_  to another man. A man with whom he was  _in love._

And the big, obvious difference, he thought, was how much he wanted to keep his eyes open, how much it wasn't just about losing himself in the sensations. It was losing himself in Puck, specifically. He couldn't stop watching, and he had never cared much for keeping the lights on but he was ridiculously grateful, now, for the daylight, for the way it hit Puck's skin and his eyes and fell across the sheets and let Dave know exactly, precisely where he was and what he was doing. And it wasn't a problem anymore, being seen, when he so obviously was right where he needed to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got stuck for a while, it's true, but after the last two episodes of Glee, all the Dave in my consciousness has inspired me. But oh, the angst. Enjoy. 
> 
> -amy

The clock read 3:45 am when Puck finally gave up on sleep.  The light coming through the slats of Dave’s blinds was faint.  There was a moon, but it was shrouded in the haze of the warm September night; most of the illumination outside came from the street lamps. 

Puck sat up in bed and carefully leaned over Dave, trying not to jiggle the bed or disturb Pascal, and turned the rod to open the slats on the blinds so the fine lines of light became stripes.  They fell across Dave like arrows, pointing.  _See,_ they said.  _This is the one.  The one you’ve been wanting.  The one you’ve been dreaming about.  He’s right here._

Puck followed the arrows with his eyes, drinking in the sight of Dave at rest, Dave unencumbered by the pressures and fears of waking life.  The muscles on his forehead that knotted when he was upset were relaxed.  Puck resisted stroking them with his fingers.  He didn’t want him to wake up.  His lips were slightly parted.  Puck watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. 

He stood, flexing his feet, and got Dave’s robe from the hook on the back of the door.  Even at three in the morning, he wouldn’t want to risk being seen naked by the neighbors on Dave’s back deck.  Dave had mentioned he liked those neighbors. 

There was already water in the kettle on the stove, and he found some honey in the cupboard by the fridge and decaffeinated tea in the cupboard.  He turned on the burner and waited for the water to boil. 

Puck figured there was no reason for him to feel any different.  A little sore, maybe, but he could deal.  The angle had been different, on his back like that.  He barely remembered that part of it.  Even if it had been awesome.  There were other things, though, that had stuck with him, that had kept him awake past exhaustion and into feeling a little manic.

Dave’s arms around him, tighter than before, tight enough to keep him from bolting.  Not that he’d wanted to, probably, but Dave wouldn’t have let him, even if he _had_.  That was... Puck didn’t know what, but it wasn’t bad. 

 _I just look at you,_ he’d said, _and there you are.  And you’re pretty fucking amazing._   What the hell did that mean?  Since when did Dave think he was amazing?  As far as he knew, Dave hadn’t thought much about him at all for the past ten years.

 _Right here,_ he’d said. _This is where I want to be._   Right here?  Inside of Puck?  In Dave’s house?  With him -- for tonight?  What about tomorrow?  Was Puck going to catch Dave’s need for space before it was too late this time, or would they be going through this every week?  He was pretty sure he would break into tiny pieces if he had to do that. 

 _I’m here, you’re here.  And I love you._   At least that was unambiguous.  Puck took the kettle off before it could whistle and wake up Dave.  The flush that ran through him was hotter than the boiling water. 

“I love you,” he murmured, hearing the words in the dark room.  He nearly jumped out of his skin at the answering voice, but it was just Pascal, meowing from the doorway.  Puck bent down to hold out his thumb and forefinger for him to sniff and rub against, then scratched his chin. 

“Yeah, you too, buddy,” he agreed.  “I guess I belong to both of you now.”

The idea was strangely comforting, way more than he ever expected it to be.  He wasn’t exactly calm, but there was a space inside himself that was suddenly very still, very peaceful in a way he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.  It was a little like the feeling he got when he was working through a kata, performing every move before he even realized he knew it, without having to think.  It was part of him.

 _Dave,_ he thought.  _He’s like that._   He wondered if the idea would freak him out. 

Then he grinned.  Overlaying the peaceful sensation, he was having a whole second set of emotions, and these apparently belonged to a teenage girl.  _Oh my god, he really likes me._ He shook his head at himself, amused, and stirred some honey into his tea. It wasn’t the first time he’d had feelings like this, but he’d been hanging on to these particular ones for such a long time, it was like they had grown up along with him.  Now they were bigger, heavier, more important.  Maybe the most important feelings he’d ever had. 

Puck took his tea and walked out onto the back deck.  The early morning was sultry, more than he would have expected September at 3 AM to be, but it was kind of nice to be the only one awake like this.  The calm of the world was reflected inside himself.  He wondered how long it would last.  The rest of the semester?   A year?  Another ten years?

Pascal followed him onto the deck. Puck hesitated for a moment before he let him out the door.  He hadn’t seen Dave let him outside, and he didn’t want him to escape, but he figured he could probably catch a cat if he had to. 

He settled into the chair, putting his tea on the table in front of him, and took a deep breath.  If he left it there, long enough, the tea would cool, become bitter.  If he kept sipping, eventually he’d get sick of it.  He’d stop wanting it so much.  Wouldn’t he? 

Puck blew out a breath between his lips, startling Pascal.  “Sorry,” he said, calming him again with one hand.  “It’s just... I haven’t even had one fucking drink yet, and already I’m thinking about dumping out my tea and starting fresh.  I don’t know why I’m in so much of a hurry.”  He picked up the tea and smelled it, kind of orangey and spicy.  It was almost too hot for his tongue, but he sipped anyway, enjoying the scalding heat.  It felt good between his hands, too.  Really good.

“That’s where my robe went.” 

Puck looked up, startled, but kept the tea steady.  Dave was standing in the doorway, arms crossed across his bare chest, wearing flannel pajama pants and a little smile.  Puck just lost himself in that moment for what was probably a long time because, math guy or not, Dave clearly still worked out, and damn.  He fought an urge to ask Dave _can you turn around about three-quarters, that way, so I can see your back?_   He wondered if it would be too obvious if he just walked around him to take a look. 

“Yeah.” Puck looked down at the robe. “You can have it back if you want, but I’m not wearing anything underneath.”  He grinned at Dave’s expression, which was an amusing combination of disgruntled and hungry. 

“I think you should come inside before you take it off, then. But you don’t have to, yet.”  Dave wasn’t moving from the doorway, and he was still looking at Puck. 

“Can I make you some tea?” Puck offered.  He paused, and shook his head.  “I mean -- it’s your house, of course; you’d make your own tea if you wanted it - you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Dave shook his head. “Thanks, but what does that have to do with anything? Okay, it’s my house, you can make tea, that would be nice.”

Puck shrugged, feeling embarrassed that he wanted to do something like that for Dave, but not embarrassed enough to keep him from doing it.  “Okay -- great.”  He stood, setting his tea aside, and giving Pascal one final stroke on his soft head.  Dave wasn’t moving out of the doorway, so Puck had to nudge by him as he went.  He stepped aside just enough to let Puck pass, but not more.

“Hey. Thank you. You don’t have to...but thanks.”

Puck laid a hand on Dave’s shoulder as he passed, and kissed him softly.  “It’s fine.”  It was, but he felt a little stupid for offering, as though Dave couldn’t just as easily have made up his own mind what he wanted, or gotten his own tea. 

Dave followed him inside. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“I like being up in the middle of the night.”  He grinned at Dave, filling the tea kettle at the sink.  “It’s a good time to think clearly.  No distractions.  I don’t usually wake up like this anymore, but... I had trouble getting to sleep.  How about you?  I thought I was being pretty quiet.”

Dave came up behind him and put an arm around his waist. “Don’t worry about it. I wake up sometimes, anyway, and just go back to sleep right away. But then you weren’t there, and...” Puck could hear a bit of a smile in his voice. “...I was pretty sure that was where I left you last night, so I woke up for real and went to see where you might have gone.”

“Sorry to disturb your sleep.  I guess I’m not used to having somebody else there.”  He fiddled with the tea bag, relaxing back against Dave’s warm chest.  “You like cream, or honey or something?”

“Just a little bit of honey would be perfect.” Dave brought his other arm around him and let them rest, linked together, on his stomach. He kissed Puck’s neck lightly. “Thank you, babe.”

Puck felt the word, glowing inside his chest like a coal.  He dribbled a little honey into the mug and wiped off the rim with his finger, licking the extra honey off.  He wasn’t exactly chilly, but Dave’s body felt so fucking good behind him; he didn’t want to move from that casual embrace.  He sighed and turned his head, nuzzling against Dave’s neck with his lips.  “God, Dave.”

 Dave brought a hand up to Puck’s head, cupping it in his palm for a moment, still keeping a firm hold on his waist. Then he took the mug out of Puck’s hand and placed it decisively on the counter. “That will keep. Or not, I don’t really care.” He turned Puck around in his arms and, tea taken care of, grabbed the back of his head again, leaning in for a hard, messy kiss.

Puck felt himself losing all of his senses, one at a time, under the impact of Dave’s mouth on his.  The first to go was his hearing, as the sound of Dave’s gentle moans overwhelmed him.  He couldn’t feel anything but Dave’s arms around him, the heat of his skin, the smell of him -- it was intense, and perfect, and all he wanted to do was _this,_ for as long as Dave wanted him to.

“Come back to bed,” Dave said, and, even though his voice was soft, it didn't feel like a request.  Puck took the hand Dave was holding out and followed him up the stairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dave thought later that the truck hadn’t sounded quite right when Puck started it up that morning after class, that something was a little off, but it hadn’t been significant enough for him to comment on -- until it was too late.  They were heading over the bridge onto King when there was a loud metallic _clunk,_ and the engine cut out. 

“What the -- ”  Puck swerved to the side of the road, braking hard, his hands gripping the wheel.  He looked back over his shoulder.  “What the fuck was that?  Did I drive over something?”

“I don’t know! Shit!” Dave hated how high and panicked it sounded. The only thing missing was an actual scream, and that was really the last thing that would help, if something was really wrong. The car rolled a little further along the side of the road, then came to a complete stop.

Puck cranked the ignition, but it wouldn’t catch.  He let out an exasperated breath and leaned forward to pop the latch on the hood.  “Well, Dave -- here’s where I admit I know fuck-all about cars.  How about you?”

“About the same. I can fill up the oil and change a tire, but I don’t think any of those are what we need right now?”

“I doubt it.  I can’t get it started at all, but it doesn’t sound like it’s the battery.”  Puck turned on the emergency lights, then climbed out of the cab and went around to the front, lifting the hood up and staring at the engine in baffled annoyance.

Dave followed him, just so he could feel a little more useful. Not that he could do anything other than stare, too.  They poked at the silent engine with uncertain fingers for a few minutes before Puck sighed and stepped away from the car.  “Forget this.  I’m not going to figure it out.  I always get Mr. Hummel to help me with shit like this.  Who would you call around here?”

“There’s a towing service out of Columbus - I think I have the number in my phone. Want me to call them?” He took the phone out of his pocket and started searching for the right name in the list. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could do. He might not know any of the things a man was supposed to know about cars, but at least he’d listened to his dad’s nagging about emergency phone numbers.

“Yeah.  I don’t think we’re going anywhere any time soon.”  He kicked the front tire and sighed.  “Crap, man, I’m sorry.  My stupid truck’s been making funny noises for weeks.”

Dave shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he pushed the call button and raised the phone to his ear.

Dave explained the noises as best as he could to the auto repair place, and described their location by cross-street.  He was informed it would be another half hour at least.  Puck folded down the door to the pickup bed and took a seat on the edge, his legs dangling down. “Might as well get comfortable.”  He heaved a sigh.

Dave looked at him, crossing his arms in front of him. Puck seemed fine, he should just sit down with him and relax. He tried to lean on the truck, then pushed off it again, and went to stand by the side of the road. This wasn’t a big deal, nobody was hurt, but there was something about standing there, waiting, in a place people shouldn’t be standing unless something was wrong. It felt more dangerous than it should.

Puck pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted across the four busy lanes of traffic passing just a few feet in front of them.  “Dude.  I always get headaches when I have to deal with my truck like this.  I don’t know, maybe it’s psychological, or fumes or something.”

Dave instinctively moved over to stand beside him, and put a hand on his neck, rubbing it gently. It wasn’t until the scar was actually under his fingers that it hit him, exactly when the last time was that he’d been standing by a broken car with Puck. The memory was strong and sudden, and he fought to keep his hand steady, like nothing had happened, which shouldn’t be so hard considering nothing actually had. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just a headache... what?”  He glanced at Dave.  “Are _you?_   You look kind of... I don’t know.  What is it?”

Dave pulled his hand away. How could he possibly explain that he wasn’t seeing Puck as he was now, a guy with a broken truck and a slight headache, he was seeing a boy, bleeding, unconscious, and... and himself, watching helplessly. He forced himself to actually focus his eyes and look, at the present, at Puck, alive and fine and grown up. “Yeah. Just something I remembered.”

“Huh.  Must have been some memory.”  He leaned into Dave’s shoulder, just a little nudge.  Dave jumped at the touch, then felt immediately guilty. Puck didn’t mean anything by it.

“This reminds me of ninth grade JV football, driving to Dayton with Finn,” he said.  “He was driving his mom’s car and he blew a fucking tire on the highway.  Freaked the shit right out.  Luckily there was a police cruiser on the scene, but the police officer turned out to be one of the dads of the opposing team...”

Puck probably didn’t remember, and he was glad, he shouldn’t, but god, couldn’t he at least shut up about the stupid football story. “Yeah? Is that’s the only car accident you can remember?” He snapped his mouth shut. Shit, had he really just said that?

Puck stared over his shoulder at him.  “Yeah,” he said slowly.  “I guess... I don’t remember much about the other one.” 

Dave moved a little closer again, looking down. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I know you don’t.” But _he_ did, and Puck was the one who’d been hurt, and Dave had just gotten mad at him for it. Damn, he was an idiot.

“Hey, no, it’s not a big deal.  I really think it was worse for you -- you’re the one who has to deal with remembering it.  I just had to sit there on the hospital bed and get better.”  He shrugged, swinging his feet off the end of his truck. “After all those police reports and telling the story so many times, I gotta wonder how much of my memory about it is made up and how much of it actually happened.”

“So what do you remember?” Dave looked at Puck, trying to judge if he wanted him to change the subject or not. “If you want to tell me. Maybe I can fill in some of the gaps.”

Puck kept his gaze fixed on the skid marks in the gravel behind his truck as the traffic drove by.  Nobody had even offered to stop and help, but Dave figured two guys and a truck didn’t exactly scream for assistance from passers-by.  It was just as well. 

“I don’t even know if I should ask,” Puck said.  “I’m kind of afraid to hear the answers.”

Now that he mentioned it, Dave kind of was too. What would Puck think of him, once he knew? It was a long time ago, things like that didn’t ever really change, did they? And Puck was looking for someone strong, reliable, someone to take care of him - not someone you couldn’t trust in a crisis. “Okay. It’s up to you.”

Puck nodded slowly.  “It’s like I’ve told myself this story, about somebody else, this car accident, all the players, the scene -- I can see it all in my head.  Only I wasn’t there.  And even if I had been, I wouldn’t see it like that, like a movie, from someone else’s point of view, would I?  I’d be _living_ it.”  He shivered, wrapping his hands around his bare arms, even though it was eighty degrees out.  “I don’t know if I can handle remembering that.”

Dave took a deep breath. He still didn’t know what to do, but Puck like that seemed to be the one thing that trumped all his fears and insecurities. He went to stand in front of him, and put his hands on his upper arms above Puck’s own. “Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you don’t remember. But sometimes, what you imagine can be worse than the reality, you know.”

Puck shook his head.  “I doubt that.”  He glanced around them, at the passing cars, the empty space beside them.  “You really want to do this out here in the middle of everything?”

Dave looked at him, trying to guess if this was Puck actually telling him to back off, or if he was just offering an excuse, or what. “Why not? We’re stuck here, nobody’s even noticing us.” He moved his hand a little, almost stroking Puck’s arm but not quite. “I think... it sounds like you maybe need to hear it. If you think you can handle that.”

Puck closed his eyes, growing still under Dave’s hands.  “Maybe,” he said, almost inaudibly.  “Yeah.  Maybe I do need to.”

Dave took a deep breath. Maybe he’d miscalculated and they really shouldn’t do this out here. He’d failed to take into account how much he needed to hold Puck, when he got like this, how hard it was to resist the urge to pull him tight against himself.

“Okay. So I don’t know how much you remember, of what came before, or even what you think happened, but...” _Quit stalling, Dave,_ he thought. _Rip it off. Make it simple, matter of fact, Puck has built this up to a huge thing in his head, and he doesn’t need you to confirm that._ “...okay, so, he lost control of the car, right? You know that part, you’ve read the reports. I don’t really remember knowing anything was wrong until it was already happening, so you probably wouldn’t either? Though I guess you might have been paying more attention.”

He could feel the tension in Puck’s body through his hands.  “I actually don’t remember any of it.  Like, for hours before, or hours afterwards.  I don’t think I do, anyway.”

Maybe Dave should be telling him about that, too, then, but not right now. _Stay focused, get it over with._ He nodded and continued with the story. “So we rolled over...and I remember thinking, for a fraction of a second, that it was fine, we were okay. But then we kept going, and it seemed really slow, and when we stopped, we were upside down.” He stopped to breathe again, trying to catch Puck’s eye to see if he was okay. He couldn’t, but he didn’t push it, and he was too far in to stop now, anyway. 

“I just...sat there, or hung there, or whatever, waiting to flip over again, until finally I realized it wasn’t going to happen. I guess there must have been a lot of noise, before that, but it was really quiet.” A lot like now, actually.  “I tried to ask if you guys were okay, but I didn’t get an answer. So I got myself out of my seat belt, and I thought I’d go over to try to shake you or something. And then I saw the blood.” _And then I sat there on the roof of the car and watched you bleed from the head, too afraid to move until you started moaning._

“Yeah, the blood.”  Puck gave a shaky laugh.  “I guess there was a lot of it.  The doctors told me they had to give a transfusion.”

“So, yeah, I got you down from there eventually and I took off my shirt, because... there was a lot of blood, okay? And that was all I did. I sat there pushing a balled up sweatshirt at your head until the paramedics got there. I might as well have been unconscious, too.”

He didn’t keep going, because the rest of it had nothing to do with Puck, really - the lights, and how they’d dealt with Puck first, and then Scott and his dad, and Dave had given their names and explained how they’d all been knocked out except him, and no, he didn’t know for how long, he hadn’t even known they were awake again, and yes, he was fine, and someone had tried to give him a blanket before they disappeared. It had fallen off it shoulders, and he’d let it fall, preferring to keep clutching the sticky sweatshirt with both hands.

Dave kept his eyes at chest level, afraid of what he might see if he looked up. Some kind of response from Puck would have been nice, but he didn’t really feel like he could ask for it. And how fucked up was that, anyway, to need Puck to comfort him about failing to be strong enough for Puck? If he was going to be weak, at the very least he should be able to handle his own weakness, and he didn’t even know anymore if he was holding on for Puck, or for himself.

Puck cleared his throat.  When Dave finally did look up, Puck’s eyes were wet.  “I... fuck.  I just feel... lucky, I guess.  that you were there.  Because, like, what if you hadn’t been?  There’d have been nobody.  I would have been totally alone.”  He put a hand on Dave’s chest.  “But I wasn’t.”

Dave had no idea how to respond to that, because like he sometimes did, Puck had turned the whole situation upside down and come up with something that...seemed to make sense, but also had nothing to do with reality.

He reached up to touch Puck’s cheek, and Puck let out a little gasp.  “God, Dave.”  He sighed and closed his eyes briefly.  “I feel like there’s no way I can ever thank you enough for being there.  I’m trying to let it go, but... I don’t think I can.”  The way Puck was looking at him, it was almost embarrassing.  Like -- like he was some _hero_ , or something, and he wasn’t anything like that. 

Dave shook his head.  “You... I didn’t even do anything. I can’t make you let it go, but...I really hope you’re not here because you think you owe me.” It hurt just to say that, and he didn’t even believe it was true. “I was just there, same as you. Chance. None of us really had much to do with it. I might just as well thank _you_ for being okay.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”  Puck grinned, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “But I’m totally not just here because of that.  No way.”

Dave glanced down the road. No tow truck to be seen. He put his arms around Puck and pulled him in, just long enough for a quick kiss on his forehead. Then, still aware of the time and place and not quite trusting his own self control, he pushed himself away and went to lean on the truck beside Puck, leaving a deliberate foot of space between them.

Puck seemed calm enough, willing to let Dave declare that space, but he wasn’t saying much, not even when the tow truck pulled up beside them. Dave hated sitting there with that awkward distance, having to do that and not knowing if Puck knew why he was doing it.

Dave noticed the tattoos on the driver’s arm, blurry and indigo, like they’d been done long ago, except the guy wasn’t much older than they were.  “What seems to be the problem?” he drawled, giving the truck a once-over, then doing the same with Puck and Dave. 

“I don’t know,” Puck said, shrugging.  “It just made a crazy loud noise and cut out.  We barely got it to the side of the road.” Dave didn’t really have anything to add to that, so he kept quiet. They didn’t know anything about cars, and there was no point in trying to pretend, but he still felt uneasy with this guy looking at him.

“Well, okay, let’s pop the hood.”  He waited while Puck reached in under the dashboard to pull the lever, and came around the front to peer at the engine, as though looking with the tow truck driver with him there would suddenly illuminate things for him. 

He seemed to know what he was doing, checking belts and components under the hood, but at last he shook his head and said, “I can’t tell anything from here.  Let me lift it up a little so I can see what’s underneath.  You said you couldn’t get it started again?  Try cranking it for me once, and let me see.”

Puck obliged, climbing back into the cab and turning the ignition, but just like before, it wasn’t doing anything.  The driver hooked the cable up to the front bumper and turned on the motor to lift it up, while the two of them stepped away and waited.  Puck’s hand went back to his forehead.

“Still got that headache?” Dave asked, and Puck nodded, stepping in briefly to lean against him before Dave could ward him away.  He could see the driver watching them, and he didn’t like the expression on his face. 

Dave’s intuition proved correct. When he climbed back out of the cab of the tow truck, the driver gave them a derisive sneer.  “What, are you two a couple of fags or something?”

Dave felt the familiar rush of heat that had always accompanied his anger.  He stepped closer, looking right back at the driver with equal contempt. “Why, would you have a problem with that?” He was getting into the guy’s personal space now, and he could tell he was uncomfortable, giving Dave the upper hand. “Because if you do, you can take it up with me, okay?” He made an old, familiar move with his right arm, not really threatening, just indicating for the guy’s information that it was there. And bigger than his.

Dave saw the guy’s eyes flick towards Puck, standing slightly to the side behind him. Oh, if only he knew what he could do to him, too. Right now, though, Dave caught his eyes forcefully and moved to the side to block his view. “So, do we have a problem, or not?”

“Dude,” Puck murmured, putting a hand on Dave’s arm. 

Dave turned his upper body towards him, still keeping an eye on the tow truck guy. He lifted his arm to put a hand on Puck’s shoulder in return, and looked at him for a moment. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got this.” He turned back to the guy, who looked equal parts pissed off and scared now. “Do. We. Have a problem?” he growled. “Or are you going to shut up and do your job?”

“No -- I mean, yeah, I’ll... there’s no problem.”  The guy was backing off, his hands up, glancing back and forth between Dave and Puck.  “Um -- I’m going to take a look underneath.”

As the driver slunk away, Puck wheeled on Dave and grabbed his shoulder.  “What the _fuck_ was that for?” he hissed.

“Um, in case you didn’t notice, that guy was being an asshole? Didn’t you see how he looked at you?” Now that he was starting to come down from the adrenaline rush a little, Dave could see Puck’s perspective, maybe that was a bit much. But, what the hell, the dude deserved it, it had worked, and it wasn’t like Puck had never resorted to physical intimidation himself.

“Yeah, I noticed -- but since when do you go off on some homophobe like that?  Everybody’s an asshole in Ohio.  You’re going to get your ass kicked, or worse.” Puck glared at him.  “What, you think I need protecting or something?”

Dave looked at him, at the defiant stare and the hunch of his shoulders. His whole posture said, I don’t need you, fuck off, but in a way that somehow didn’t convince Dave. _Yeah, I do_ , he thought, _maybe not the way you think I mean, but yes._ Of course Puck could protect himself - physically, at least as well as Dave - but that didn’t really mean much. He mostly looked like an angry kid who didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe he was wrong, but...Dave took the chance of putting his hands on Puck’s biceps, anyway.

“Leave me alone.”  He made a sweep with his arms, and Dave’s hands were off him.  It wasn’t even violent, just quick and effective.   Puck cradled his own forearms again, shivering; Dave wondered if he even realized he was doing it.  “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

The driver emerged from under the truck.   “Well, it looks like your driveshaft’s broken off at the u-joint,” he said, somewhat sullenly, “but that wouldn’t explain why your car’s not starting.  We’re going to have to take it in.  You have a shop in mind, or should I just take it to our usual place?”

“Whatever.  I’m not from around here -- you can take it wherever you want.”  Puck waved a tired hand at the driver, avoiding his eyes. 

There was an absurdly awkward moment as both Dave and the driver realized at the same time they were all going to need to cram into the cab of the tow truck together. Dave decided to get in first, putting himself in the middle. Puck followed him. “Actually,” Dave said, turning to the driver, “change of plans. There’s a shop on Kenny, Tom and Jerry’s; you can take it there.” He didn’t actually care, but he didn’t want this asshole to get to decide for them.

Puck slouched down in the seat next to him, crossing his arms, his eyebrows low.  “It’s _my_ fucking truck,” he muttered.   “Pretty sure he didn’t ask _you.”_

Dave didn’t reply to that, he just looked at Puck and at the seatbelt hanging unused beside him. “Sure. Put on your seatbelt before we go; it’s not for decoration.”

Puck stared at Dave incredulously, but he reached up with one hand and fastened it across his chest.  Even the snap of his seatbelt sounded defiant. 

“Jesus Christ,” said the driver under his breath.  Dave glared at him, but really, it was kind of ridiculous the way Puck was behaving. 

The ride across town to Tom and Jerry’s Auto Repair was brief and uncomfortable.  At least the driver was willing to be courteous enough once they’d arrived and he’d unhooked Puck’s truck.  He took Puck’s insurance information and said he’d send them a bill for the tow, and was out of there before they could exchange another word.

The repair shop listened to Puck explain about the accident and said they’d call him when they knew what was going on.  The courtesy driver, a woman this time, had nothing but a friendly smile for them as she dropped them off at Dave’s house. 

Puck was looking everywhere, the tree, the garage, the porch, anywhere but at Dave’s face.  “That sucked.  I can’t believe my truck is...”  He sighed.  “Guess you’re stuck with me for a little while.  Got any Tylenol?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll go get it for you. Come on.” Dave opened the door, leading him into the house. “Get yourself some water, I’ll be right back.”

Dave went up the stairs, considering the situation. It was obvious from the way Puck was acting that something was wrong, but Dave was tired himself, and he didn’t know if he could actually deal with Puck in this state for as long as it would take to get him out of it.

When he came downstairs with the Tylenol, Puck was standing by the back door, his water glass in his hand. Dave went over to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Here. Your head, right?” Puck nodded and swallowed the offered pills. “Maybe you should get some fresh air, that helps sometimes. The back deck is nice and quiet.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, man, that’s a good idea.”  He smiled faintly at Dave and touched his hand.  “Thanks.”

Puck left, and Dave stood in the kitchen for a while wondering what to do with himself. Eventually he remembered the huge pile of laundry he’d been neglecting for way too long, because all he’d been able to focus on outside of classes and homework was Puck. Maybe it was time to do something about that.

He sorted all of it into smaller piles roughly according to fabric and color, and started the first load. And then there was nothing more to do until that was finished, so he went back into the kitchen. He put away some dishes, stared at the counter for a while wondering if he should clean it. God, what was he doing? There was so much stuff, and he didn’t really know where to start with any of it.

There was Puck - well, really, all of it was about Puck, in one way or another - what did he even want? It had seemed so obvious, earlier, that Puck needed him, but then had he gone too far? With a bit of distance, his behavior seemed almost primitive. What if Puck was right, and he didn’t need Dave to protect him, it just looked that way through the haze of don’t-touch-my-boyfriend rage?

But then there were other images - Puck shaking, clinging to Dave, telling him he needed him... and then telling him he didn’t, trying to hold himself together, but not doing a very good job of it. That childish rejection, vibrating with anger but also begging with his whole body, _please don’t listen to what I’m saying, love me anyway_. At least that was what Dave thought he heard. And it was damn near impossible to resist, even with the doubt still in his mind about whether it was really right. He covered his face with his hands and slowly dragged them down over it, sighing. He just didn’t _know_.

When Dave looked up, he caught sight of Puck standing in the side yard through the window above the kitchen sink.  He got closer to the window, watching him run through a series of karate moves.  Pascal was out there, too, creeping through the grass on his belly, stalking prey real or imagined, but he was staying well away from Puck and his measured activity.

This was different from the sparring Dave had witnessed in the dojo in Columbus, or even from the simple routine he’d seen Puck teach the juniors class that weekend in Lima.  Puck was moving in a fluid series of motions, turning one way and then another to strike with precision against innumerable unseen opponents. His hands and feet snapped out and back against his body, spare and clean, but the rest of him moved with liquid ease over the back lawn with hardly a pause.  Watching Pascal hunting bugs and Puck working on his kata, Dave couldn’t have said with assurance which of them was more graceful.  In any case, Puck definitely looked more calm and together than he had half an hour ago.

Dave stood there and watched him in silence for several minutes while he completed the routine, ending with a formal bow, one hand pressing the other fist down.  Then he reached down, scooped up Pascal with one hand and put him up on his shoulder.  Dave could see him grinning and talking to the cat, and even though he couldn’t hear what was being said, it made him smile.  Pascal draped himself over both shoulders and rubbed Puck’s head with his nose, marking him with feline ecstasy.

He slid open the glass door and stepped into the house with a shy smile.  “Hey.  You get some stuff done?”

That smile was like sunshine, and with the added power of Pascal, all the worries and doubts melted right out of Dave. All that was left was soft and warm and happy. He felt ridiculous, but he didn’t care; he just grinned back. “Yeah, I put in some laundry. How about you, are you feeling better?”

“Lots.  When I get stuck in my head like that, I just need to move, you know?”  He leaned toward the table and let Pascal jump down.  Then he went right to Dave and slid his hands around his waist with a sigh.  “I’m sorry I was such a jerk.  You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

Dave put his arms around him. “It’s okay,” he said, pulling Puck even closer and moving one hand up to his head. It was so good to finally be holding him again. “I get it. It was a lot to handle all at once.”

“It’s just -- when you did that, when you... stood up for me...”  Dave felt him sigh again, against the skin of his neck, resting his head on his shoulder.   “I totally _couldn’t_ handle that.  That’s why I snapped at you.”

Dave stopped. If that really had been as bad as he feared, why was Puck apologizing and leaning into his neck? Why wasn’t he mad at him, or even scared? “I’m sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have done that. I was kind of acting on instinct.”

“No, no -- that’s just it.”  He swallowed, then spoke in a hoarse whisper.  “I liked it.  What you did.”

 _Oh._ Well, that put things into a different perspective. And...Puck had sort of done something like that before, hadn’t he? Dave kept holding him tight, stroking his back a little, feeling him quiver under his hand. He didn’t quite get it, but he saw the emotions there. “But that’s okay, babe. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, what kind of a _man_ wants that?”  Puck sounded appalled.  “Fuck, Dave... I figure, we’re guys who like guys for a reason -- but what kind of excuse for a guy am I? _”_

Dave took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Yeah, I like guys. And apparently sometimes I threaten tow truck drivers. So I’m pretty lucky that there’s a guy for me who wants that, right?”

Puck shook his head, clearly exasperated.  “I just keep waiting for you to realize what a mess I am and...”

“Stop that.”  Dave turned his head and kissed Puck’s temple. “I know a thing or two about being a mess, okay? There’s nothing here that I don’t want to deal with.” He might feel like he was in a little over his head. But there was no way he didn’t want to be there.

“Really?”  Puck let out an amazed laugh.  “I can’t believe that.  I mean -- I’m not saying I don’t believe what you’re saying, it’s just hard to swallow that you’d -- that _you’d_ want that from me.”  This time his breath came a little more easily.  “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“Okay, so we both win. But, I mean - I really do want that. And I know that’s easy to say, but I hope you’ll let me try to prove it to you.”

He gazed up at Dave.  “How?”

“I mean --” Dave put his hand on the side of Puck’s face and looked into his eyes. “I mean I want to show you. I want you to stick around and keep telling me all the things you think you shouldn’t want, so you can see for yourself that you can’t scare me away.”

Puck blinked, looking away momentarily, but he looked back again, and nodded.  “I think I can do that.  If you’re sure it won’t freak you out too bad.”

Dave smiled. “Okay.” He leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the side of his mouth. “Thank you.” He pulled away far enough to see the awed, grateful expression on Puck’s face. He stopped, changing his mind, and moved back in for another kiss, a real one this time.

It had been a stressful enough day that Dave wasn’t too surprised to feel them both responding, passionately, almost desperately.  He could feel Puck pressing close to him, and he held him tightly.

Puck took a deep breath.  “So are you ready to hear something?  Something I want that I shouldn’t?”

Dave nodded. It had been easy to ask for - it made such obvious sense, when he said it - but it was starting to sink in what a huge thing it really was for Puck to do. Tell me the things you’re ashamed to want. He of all people should know what that meant. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay.  Um.   I want you to -- tell me what you want.  So I can do it for you.”

Dave thought about that.  “That’s...wait. You’re telling me what you want, but you don’t think you should want me to do that for you. And you think I’d have a problem with you doing the things for me that I want. What? Why?”

Puck looked at the floor.  “Because guys should be in control,” he said, a little impatiently.  “You don’t think it’s a little crazy that I think it’s hot when you -- tell me what to do?”  Just the statement seemed to have an effect on Puck, and he licked his lips, his eyes dark and intense.

Dave put two fingers under Puck’s chin and lifted it. “I think we’re done worrying about wanting the wrong things for today.”  He wasn’t sure how much of his reaction was what Puck was saying, or seeing what it did to Puck, or anxiety about what the hell he was going to tell him. It was a bit like being put on the spot by a professor wanting an example (only about a million times hotter). He wanted to give an answer, he was pretty sure he had several, but when asked to pick one, his mind went blank.

 _I think it’s hot when you tell me what to do_. It had obviously cost Puck quite a lot of effort to get that out there. And Dave had to admit...it was kind of hot to him, too. So what was his problem? If Puck wanted it, and he only asked for things he was pretty sure Puck would want to do anyway...he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, would he?

“Okay,” he said, searching Puck’s face carefully. He was close enough to see every little hair, every detail of his skin, but he couldn’t find any real clues about anything. He did look like he’d been sweating - maybe the karate. “It’s been a long day. Go upstairs and take a shower, I’ll come find you there.”

Puck didn’t hesitate.  He just turned around and headed upstairs, without a word.

Dave went and got a glass of water, drank it slowly, and took a few deep breaths before he followed him. He wondered what he would find - who was this Puck who did what he asked without a single protest or pout? What other unexpected things might he do? Dave kind of wanted to find out.

He walked towards the bathroom, where he could hear the shower running. Puck hadn’t wasted any time. He was standing with his back to him, but when Dave slid open the door, he turned around.  He still wasn’t saying anything, but he looked alert, attentive.  Waiting, for Dave.

Dave looked at him. It was a little unsettling, he didn’t quite know what to say - floored by both the expression on Puck’s face and, though he should have been getting used to it, by how absolutely gorgeous he looked, standing there. “Hey,” he finally said. “Is there room for me?”

“Uh...”  Puck took a step back, flickering a glance at Dave’s hands.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  Come on in.”

Dave took one more long look at him, before he quickly pulled off his clothes and stepped in. It was a little awkward, one shower wasn’t really meant for two people, at least not people their size, but wet, naked Puck was a good reason to try. “Thanks,” he said, as Puck gave him space to step under the spray. “Um, there’s a bottle of shampoo behind you, could you get that for me?”

Puck reached over to the shampoo on the shelf and handed it to Dave.  “This one?”  When he turned back, his shoulder brushed against Dave’s chest, and Puck took a sharp breath as he steadied himself against Dave’s body.  He looked away, but Dave could see how turned on he was.

“Babe.”  He tried to be gentle, but Puck flinched anyway.  “What is it?”

“Just you,” said Puck, his voice low.  “Just what you do to me.  I’m -- helpless.”  He laughed bitterly.  “I’m fucking helpless.”

 _And I like you that way,_ Dave thought, but he figured that would be about the worst thing he could say, if Puck was so scared by that idea.  “Come here.”  He turned Puck around so he was facing away from him again, and pulled him against his chest, his arms over Puck’s, holding him tight, as tight as he could.  Puck let out one frustrated breath and relaxed, his head falling back onto Dave’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to be here, right?” Dave said into his ear, feeling Puck respond to his breath, the timbre of his voice.  “You can go home any time you want.”

“Do you want me to?”  It wasn’t an angry retort.  It sounded like Puck really was wondering if he did, which was completely stupid, because why in hell would he want to chase a naked wet Puck out of his shower?  But he somehow could tell Puck was within inches of freaking out, and Dave wasn’t going to make it worse. He kept his voice even and steady.

“No.  I don’t.  But you _could,_ if you wanted to.  Right?”

“Yeah.  I guess so.”  He hissed as Dave brushed a hand over his pierced nipple.

“Yeah.  You could.  But you don’t want to.”  Another sweep of his hand, and Puck groaned, twisting his hips back against Dave.  “And I don’t want you to.  You’re not helpless. You’re sticking around because you're getting what you want.  Don’t you want this?”

“Y-yeah,” Puck stammered.  “But --”

“You asked me to tell you want I want.  Well, I want you to _stop worrying._ ”  Dave cinched his arms tight around Puck again, and Puck caught his breath.  “You feel how much I want you, babe?  Do you?”

Another groan from Puck, this one a little desperate, but Dave wasn’t letting him get out of this one.  “Come on.  Tell me.  What do you feel?”

“You,” he whispered.  “You’re -- you’ve got a fucking hard on for me.”

“Damn right I do.”  He punctuated his statement with a nudge that made Puck gasp.  “I can’t pretend that, any more than you can pretend this.”  Dave’s hand drifted down to grip Puck’s own erection, stroking it slowly, almost lazily, and he shivered as Puck let out a whimper.  “So I think we’re pretty much even.  Come on, let’s finish up in here.  We have business to attend to.”

Puck was quiet again after that, pensive.  He responded readily enough to Dave’s requests for soap and washcloth, but didn’t make any of the usual innuendos, not even when Dave accidentally-on-purpose dropped the washcloth on the floor of the shower. When Dave washed his back, Puck leaned into it, breathing slow and even, and he rinsed quickly, without needing any prompting or reminders.  And, even though Puck’s own arousal hadn’t faded one bit, he wasn’t trying to initiate anything with Dave.  He was just... waiting.

If this was any other guy, hell, if it was a week ago, that would probably have made him insecure enough to stop. But Dave thought he was starting to get it, a little bit. He could take a deep breath and not freak out. This was Puck. It was different.

Dave watched Puck drying off, and had a sudden, crazy urge to try telling him to do something irrational, like _put down that towel and drip-dry the rest of the way._  But he wouldn’t, of course; that would have been the worst kind of irresponsible, to take Puck’s trust and play with it, like it was a toy.  He wouldn’t do that.  The responsibility Puck had placed on Dave loomed large, but he wasn’t taking advantage of it.  He was going to give this an honest try. 

“When you’re dry,” he said, “go on into the bedroom and wait for me on the bed.”

Puck nodded, looking away.  Dave didn’t like that.  He grabbed Puck’s hand before he could walk off, making him look at him. 

“This is all right?” he said, like a question, but it wasn’t, really.  Puck hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and this time he looked Dave in the eye when he did it.  Dave kissed him, then let his hand go.  That was better.

Dave took his time, drying off and hanging the towel on the rack.  It wasn’t that he wanted to make Puck wait for him, but he got that maybe a few minutes alone to think wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.  For himself, either.  Eventually, though, he began to approach the dividing line between meditation and procrastination, and he had to take a deep breath and just walk the eight steps across the hallway into his bedroom. 

Puck was seated in the middle of his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, resting his head on his bare arms, looking for all the world like a Renaissance sculpture.  Well, with a bald head, but Dave could stand a little anachronism.  It was easier not to be self-conscious around Puck when he was lost in his own head like this.  Dave could concentrate on him, instead of worrying about what Puck was thinking about Dave.  He put a hand on his shoulder.

“Lie down,” he said.

It was easy to watch Puck doing this and think, _It’s just us, together, just like yesterday and the day before._   But it wasn’t.  This was Dave, directing, and Puck, following his lead.  _Because he wants to,_ he reminded himself, but somehow that didn’t make it any easier. He stretched out next to Puck on the bed, gazing down on him, stroking his chest lightly.  Puck’s breath was slow and even, just as it had been in the shower, and his eyes wide and trusting.  _He would do anything I asked him to do.  Anything I told him to do._

And suddenly Dave was having trouble breathing, himself, and he needed -- he needed a little space.  He stood up, stumbling off the bed and backing away.  “Wait a second,” he said.  “I can’t.  I can’t do this.”

Puck didn’t seem to understand what he was saying, at first.  Dave watched his brow furrow, and he licked his lips as Dave’s sentence sank in.  Then he slowly sat up.  “Okay.”  He reached out a hand.  “Dave.  Okay.  It’s okay.”

Dave didn’t want to take his hand, he didn’t want to be there, but -- he wasn’t going to completely ditch him, either.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear his thoughts.  “God.”

“It’s okay,” Puck insisted.  “I guess it was... well, whatever it was, it doesn’t matter.  We don’t have to do that.”

Dave nodded heavily, then looked at Puck, kneeling beside him on the bed.  He wasn’t sure how they’d gone from that serious, complicated space to _this,_ but it wasn’t quite so hard to breathe now, and he thought he had a better sense of where they’d been a minute ago.

“I don’t think I can, right now,” he said, putting as much apology into that statement as he could manage.  Puck nodded, and put an arm around him.  They sat together on the bed, and Dave felt his warm skin and the rhythm of his breathing in the silence of the room.

“You want to get some pizza?” said Puck.

Dave gave him a shaky laugh.  “Only if you let me buy,” he said.  “I owe you dinner.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, angsty (but cute) Kurt ahead.

Dave sat on the couch, alone except for Pascal, who was lying on the other side looking at him. He had a book, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on it. His attention kept wandering, mostly in the direction of Puck, as it had for most of the last twenty-four hours, but he couldn’t even think about that properly.  He didn’t know what to start. It was all scenes and feelings, with no beginning or order. He’d tell Pascal about it, but the questioning look he gave him wasn’t really enough to get him started.

There was one person who knew how to get him to talk, and wouldn’t mind hearing some details. Dave took his phone from the table and, before there was time to change his mind, called Kurt. He picked up after a few seconds. “Hey,” Dave said, “what are you doing?”

“Sitting still on the highway. It’s almost pointless to have these speed limit signs when nobody goes faster than ten miles an hour anyway.”  Kurt didn’t sound too perturbed, though.  “And you?”

“Um, nothing much. Trying to read, but I thought I’d call you instead.” He didn’t quite know what to say. Kurt would probably know something was up - he was usually the one who called Dave, and not usually at this time - and they’d get to it eventually.

“It’s good to hear from you.  Regale me with tales of your new romance, David.  I could use the inspiration of a good love story.  Presuming things are still going well?”

“I’m not sure.” He tried to massage some of the tension out of his forehead. “I mean...it’s kind of new, and really confusing, but... it’s good, too.”

“What’s the confusing part?  Not that I’m an expert these days, but I’m happy to share my limited knowledge.”

“Damn.” Dave laughed. “I was counting on you to be the authority on dating guys. You know I always thought of you that way.”

“That’s very sweet, David, but I’m sad to say the life of a screenwriter isn’t particularly conducive to romance.  The hours alone play havoc with my moisturizing routine.  Not much time for dinners or evenings together, either.  But enough about me... you’re getting along well?  Tell me how it all started.”

“Well...I’m not sure how much I told you the last time, but you know he’s in my class. He brought me coffee, actually. And it just sort of...started from there. Dinner. The usual stuff. I guess except the part where he showed up in my office.” Dave took a deep breath, not really wanting to go into detail about that. “He took me home to meet his sister. And. Um. Beth.”

“Oh... Dave.”  Kurt sounded awed.  “That’s a big deal.  Are you handling it reasonably well?  I know how you are... you’re not freaking out, are you?”

Dave snorted. “Not all the time? I mean, it happens. There were a few days...I was an idiot, didn’t even call him, you know how I get. But he...I think he actually forgives me for that.  You know, he’s older and wiser now.” 

“I’m having a hard time imagining an older, wiser Puck.  Tell me about him.”

There was that grin again. Dave tried to compose himself. “Okay. Older, like you said. A little calmer than he used to be, I guess? You know he has his own business? Teaching karate? He’s really good with the kids. It’s kind of amazing to see him with...”

“David.  _David.”_   Dave hoped Kurt was keeping his hold on the wheel, he sounded so agitated.  “This isn’t a few dates and some casual sex.  What is going on here?  Are you in _love?”_

“Um - yes?” The inner teenage girl who seemed to have taken over his brain was probably giggling or something. Saying it out loud, to someone else, made him giddy all over again. “Yeah. I guess it’s really too soon to say that, but...yeah. I love him.”

“Well.”  He heard Kurt take a deep breath, like a sigh.  “I suppose, in a way, you’ve known him a long time.  And I’m pleased to hear you’re not trying to deny how you feel.  That’s very healthy.  And I’m happy for you.  I’m just... concerned, perhaps.  I don’t want you to get hurt, jumping into something you might not be prepared for.”

“What, you think he’s going to break my heart or something?” Kurt’s sudden lack of enthusiasm was an almost painful change in mood, but Dave was mostly offended. “Because actually, if you should be worried about anyone, it’s probably him, not me. He’s not who you remember from high school, Kurt. Or, you know what? Maybe he is. Maybe we were just wrong about him back then.”

“Whoa, there, partner.  You’re going somewhere I really wasn’t intending to go with that.”  Kurt was far too calm for someone sitting in Los Angeles traffic.  “I didn’t mean anything about Puck.  I’m worried about _you_.  You’re my friend.  New relationships can be challenging, even under the best of circumstances.   I just wanted to be sure you were doing all right.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Dave sighed. “I guess I’ve turned into one of those guys. You know, _what did you say about my boyfriend?_ There was an...incident, with a tow truck driver.”

“Your -- _what?”_

“My what -- oh. Boyfriend. Yeah. I didn’t mention that, did I.” Dave was suddenly nervous that Kurt would declare that was silly; nobody had a real boyfriend after two weeks. He wanted to defend himself, but...should he really have to? What if Kurt was right?

Kurt cleared his throat.  “Well... it sounds like you’re doing more than all right.  I never thought... you’ve made a lot of progress since we last talked.  I’m proud of you, honey.”

“Thank you.” Really, considering what Kurt knew about Dave’s earlier attempts at relationships...he couldn’t blame him. Dave glanced at the flower arrangement on the table.  It had arrived that morning, along with a note that read _Sorry for the confusion, thinking of you._ “He, uh, sent me flowers.  I really don’t know what that’s all about.”

“All right.”  Kurt sighed.  “What did you do?”

“What did I do?”  Dave felt a little indignant.  “He’s the one who sent me flowers.”

“Yes, and obviously, if you don’t know what’s going on, you did something.  What was it?”

Dave put a hand on Pascal, feeling him start purring immediately.  He rubbed against Dave’s fingers.  _At least somebody here knows what he wants._ “Um. I guess I freaked out again. I just...I couldn’t do what he needed me to do, and I almost just left him there. He had to calm me down.”

“What did he need you to do?”  Kurt sounded curious, but surprisingly not too pushy.

And there they were again, running into the exact thing that got him in trouble in the first place: Dave’s inability to just say things, like a normal person. “He -- I guess sometimes he needs me to be in control? And that’s fine, but...he asks me to tell him what I want, and I can’t do it.”

“You can’t ask him, or you can’t figure out what you want?”

“Mostly I can’t get the words out. Or even put them together in my head.” Dave sighed. “I mean, it’s not like I always know exactly what I want, but... there are things, even if I’m not sure exactly which one, and...obviously I want things. That’s not really the problem.” _So what the hell is your problem? All you need is to get over yourself and stop being such an idiot._

“David.  I think you need to be patient with yourself, here.  For how many years did you struggle with being able to even say what you wanted at all, much less to ask your lover for it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t really want to go there, but Kurt had a point. It had taken years to even admit, to himself, in his head, that he might like to kiss a boy. How could this not be hard? He just wasn’t very good at any of it.

“Yes. And although I can’t begin to imagine the reasons why Puck might need... what you said, I do think you have the strength to give it to him.  If you really want to.”  Kurt’s voice was gentle.  “But I really think you need to ask yourself, are you’re doing it for yourself, or for him?”

Dave groaned. “How would I even know? I’m too fucked up to try.”

“Hey,” snapped Kurt.  “Quit that.  This is me, right?  You’re no more fucked up than anyone else.”

He took a deep breath. “What? Of all people, you should know. God.”

“You think you’re the only one to be confused by things you want?  Really, David, I struggled with that for a long time, too. Desires aren’t really rational, are they?”  He sounded a little bitter.  “You’re a compelling man, even under challenging circumstances.  Lots of people would have told me I was crazy for wanting you after what happened between us.  It didn’t stop me, though, did it?”

“Um.” Dave had never quite been able to believe that, even if he sort of knew it was true. “I kind of think that was crazy. Maybe a little fucked up. After what I did -- that was so far over every line.”

“You said it yourself, that night in Breadstix.  You were finally able to start asking for what you wanted.  That was a huge step, don’t you think?”

Dave laughed bitterly. “If that’s what asking for what I want is? I don’t think I should be trying too hard to learn. I’m still sorry I did that. It was...clueless and inappropriate and I should never have put you in that position.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I think it was kind of romantic.”  Kurt was clearly teasing, but he could hear a note of seriousness, too.  “If you hadn’t done that -- I mean, yes, the consequences were terrible, and I never would have wished that on you, or anyone -- but I wonder if we would have even been friends, if you hadn’t.  And that would have been a shame.”

“Yeah.” Maybe more of a shame for him than for Kurt, but...they’d had that argument enough times.

“My point is, David, you stood for what you wanted, no matter how much you were struggling with it.  If you want someone -- something so much, you really need to say so.  You need to figure out exactly what it is you want, with Puck, or anyone.  And you’re the only one who really knows that.”  He paused.  “You said you love him?”

Dave had no idea what to say to any of that, but he could handle a simple question. “Yes,” he answered, maybe a little impatiently.

“And you’re attracted to him.  You want him?”

“What do you _think_? Of course I’m attracted to him. He’s...yes.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, David.  If I recall correctly, there was a time you were attracted to _me,_ too.  All right.  So if you sat down and made a list -- not that I’m asking you to do this, exactly -- of all the things you like about him, that are appealing to you, I bet you could find a way to... appreciate, perhaps, all of those things.  Then you’d have a chance to ask, or in this case, to tell, him what you want.”  He sounded a little tense.  “Does that make sense?”

It should make sense. It sounded logical. “I guess.” He wanted, a little bit, to be whiny and stubborn and say he couldn’t imagine ever doing any of that, which was true, but he didn’t really have the patience to listen to it, even from himself. “It’s just really hard for me. But I think the only way is to suck it up and do it.”

Kurt sighed.  “I just wonder, David... if it’s that hard, if it’s that challenging for you... is it worth it?  Is it really what you want, or are you just trying to convince yourself of that?”

“You mean...look, Kurt, this isn’t really about Puck, or about what he wants, is it? It makes it really obvious, yeah, and I’m sure -- I could have ignored it, if I was with someone who didn’t ask...but it would still be a problem.”

When he wasn’t freaking out, the rational, mature part of him knew that. He kind of hated that part, sometimes, but it was usually right.

“In that case, this sounds like a perfect opportunity for you to work through this.  If it’s something you want, and he wants, then... that’s good, right?”  There was a muffled sound.  “David -- I’m sorry, I think I have to go.  I’ll call you later this week and -- and see how you’re doing.”

“Okay,” Dave said, a little startled. “I’ll be here.”

“All right.  Good luck.”  The call cut off, and Dave was left staring at the phone, wondering what had happened.

Whatever it was, the feeling he was left with - ignoring whatever what up with Kurt - was that he needed to talk to Puck. He had to face this head on. Dave suddenly saw that he’d been so absorbed in his own freakout, he had barely worried about Puck, except as a source of more guilt. He didn’t even put the phone down, he just found Puck’s number and called.

“I was wondering if you were going to call me,” said Puck’s voice, warm and smiling.  “Or maybe I should have -- but thanks.”

“No, I should have called sooner. I -- um, I got your flowers. So...thank you. But, listen. I thought...I wanted to apologize, I guess, for freaking out, and for not explaining? Because the flowers sort of seemed like you thought something was your fault. And...I don’t think so. So, I don’t know. I know it’s a long drive but...if you wanted to. I’d like to see you.”

Puck sounded pleased.  “Yeah, yeah, I want to.  I can be on my way in just a few minutes, if that’s all right.  This rental car has a much better sound system than my truck.  An hour and a half -- that’s going to feel like nothing.”

Dave let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Great. I’ll see you then.”

Dave tried to fill the intervening time as best as he could, with a quick run and a shower.  Regardless, it definitely _felt_ like longer than an hour and a half by the time Puck rang his doorbell.  Dave had a fleeting image of himself, handing Puck a house key, but that vanished quickly into the realm of really stupid ideas.  Dave smiled, holding the door open for Puck, and accepted his kiss as he stepped into the family room.

“Hey, man,” Puck said easily, but Dave recognized the relief on his face, and knew he had been worried.  “I wasn’t sure if it might not be another one of those weeks when you disappear for a couple days and I don’t hear from you.”

“Not this week,” Dave said with a smile.  “I must be learning.”

“Must be,” Puck agreed.  He walked over and touched the flowers on the table. “Hey... they did a good job.  It looks a lot nicer than I’d expected.  What did you think of the Fibonacci arrangement?”

“The... what do you mean?”

Puck raised an eyebrow.  “Man, you really must have been out of it for you not to have noticed.  You know how the Fibonacci series shows up in nature all over the place, fractals and all that.  I was reading about it, and I figured, a flower arrangement, right?”  He shrugged.  “Well, I couldn’t figure out a way to represent the 1, 1, 2 part of the series, so I had them throw in one each of an orchid and an iris, and two roses.  Then there’s the lilies, with three petals.  The pinks have five.  Delphiniums have eight petals, marigolds have thirteen... aster have twenty-one, chrysanthemum have thirty-four and the two kinds of Michaelmas daisies have 55 and 89 petals. I haven’t found anything that has a hundred and forty f-- mmmmph.”

Dave didn’t let him say anything after that for a long while.  The next words spoken between them came from Dave, and by then, they were wearing significantly less clothing.

“That was really fucking awesome of you, you know that?”

Puck chuckled, a little breathlessly, which was no wonder considering his position.  “Well, you know, it’s easy to do stuff like that, when you love somebody.”

Dave touched his face with his free hand.  “It’s not always easy,” he said.  “But it’s always worth it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was no way Dave would have answered the phone for anyone else at three in the morning, but it was Kurt’s ringtone, and after that awful day, they had promised each other they’d always pick up each other’s calls.  He scrambled for his robe, which was still on the chair instead of on its hook, because Puck had left it there the other night and neither of them had had any reason for robes last night.  “Kurt?  What’s going on?  It’s the middle of the night.”

“Always the master of the obvious, David.”  Kurt’s voice was swimming in that caustic humor it sometimes got when he was trying to impress somebody, or make them believe he was more confident than he really was.  Dave couldn’t imagine anyone would be there at three AM for Kurt to impress.  Although it was only midnight there, so maybe...?

“Are you alone?”  He eased the door shut behind him and stepped into the hallway, tying the belt of the robe around his waist. 

Kurt’s laugh was genuine, enough that Dave smiled at first without knowing why.  Then he heard the hurt behind it, and he stopped smiling.  “Always, David.  You shouldn’t even bother asking by now.  And I know the answer you’d give if I were to ask you the same question.”

“Yeah.  Uh, he’s asleep, though, so... what’s up?”  He tried to imagine why Kurt might be calling him at midnight on a Saturday.  “Didn’t you go to that club tonight?”

“Another question with an obvious answer, if you were to see how I’m dressed.  Or if you were to smell my breath.”  The word _breath_ was spoken long and drawn out, almost as though it had another meaning.  There was no double entendre Dave could ascertain there, but he paused long enough to think about it that Kurt began reassuring him.  “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head over me.  I was perfectly safe.  I took a cab, and I didn’t drink a ridiculous amount.”

“How much did you drink?” he asked, uneasily. 

“Just enough, David.  Just enough.”

Kurt was cryptic enough when he wasn’t drunk.  “Did something happen?”

“Nothing I’m not used to dealing with.  It was a banner night at Circus Disco.  I got hit on by three complete losers, one hot Lothario and one closeted businessman.  I danced for two and a half hours and drank four overpriced drinks -- well, almost four; I spilled a little of the fourth one on the businessman so I could escape; god, David, his _hands --_ and then I called a taxi and came home.  Alone.  Again.”

“Yeah.  You know I don’t really get why you do this.”  Dave switched on the dimmest light in the kitchen, just enough to keep him from tripping over Pascal’s food dish, and poured himself a glass of water from the tap.  “It never sounds like a fun way to spend a Saturday night to me.”

“Well, you know what?” snapped Kurt.  “It’s not.”

Dave paused with the water halfway to his lips.  “Okay,” he said slowly.  “Kurt... it’s too late for subtlety.  Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Mmmm.  That’s a very good question, David.  What is going on?  I would say it’s the same thing that’s been going on for seven years.  I’m very sure it hasn’t stopped going on.”  Kurt hummed a few bars of that old Celine Dion song from _Titanic,_ and Dave wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, but he did, anyway, because it was Kurt and Kurt loved an audience. 

“What goes on?” he asked doggedly. Eventually Kurt would get tired of this game and explain it to him.  Until then, he just had to --

“I’m in love, David.”

Dave set the water glass down, carefully, on the counter.  “Really.”  He tried again.  “That’s great, Kurt.  Tell me about him.”

Kurt laughed again.  “Well, that’s the funny thing.  I don’t know if you’d even recognize him anymore.  He’s changed a lot.  Matured, you might say.”

“This is a guy I know?  Knew?  You’re -- Kurt, don’t tell me you’re trying things again with Blaine.”  Dave pulled a chair out from the table and sank into it, all set to talk Kurt out of it again, but Kurt’s derisive snort let him relax a little. 

“I _hope_ I learned my lesson the last time.  No, Blaine and I are really better friends than anything else, no matter how many times we -- ahem.” 

Dave didn’t believe Kurt’s polite cough for one second.  He was as full of innuendo as any other guy; he just made it sound prettier when he told you dirty jokes. “So, not Blaine.  I don’t think you want me to go down the list of guys we both know from our past?  I mean, more than half of them are straight and the other half hated my guts.”

“Well, this one still hates your guts occasionally. Probably more than is healthy.  But he’s definitely not straight.”  Now Kurt sounded tired.  “You know what?  I think I’m too drunk to have this conversation.”

“I think you’re too drunk not to,” Dave protested.  “Come on, Kurt, you can’t dangle this in front of me at three in the morning and then not give me _something._ ”

There was a pause.  Dave thought Kurt might be laughing.  “There’s... just no good answer to that, David.  Not one that won’t get me into a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”

“Well, of course it’s your business.  I mean, you know that I know all about secrets.  If you can’t tell this one, I get it... but if you want to talk, I’ll listen, and I won’t tell anybody.”

“Oh, you’ll tell.  You wouldn’t be able to _not_ tell him.  He’s in your house right now.”

It was as though someone had dumped the entire glass of cold water over Dave’s head.  He sat straight up, feeling the heat come from inside his gut.  “No.  No way.  You -- _Puck?_ ”  And for one awful, horrible moment, he could see it: Kurt’s teasing smile, holding out his hands to Puck, flirting shamelessly back and forth, trading casual insults, both so fucking beautiful he could just scream, their arms around each -- no.  He gritted his teeth.  _Please, for once, can’t I be the guy who gets what he wants?_  “You can’t be in love with --”

“Jesus Christ, it’s _not Puck.”_   Kurt was pissed now, and Dave stopped, because he had no idea what was going on.  “I swear, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”

“Hey,” Dave said, stung.  Then he heard the noise again, and he realized Kurt wasn’t laughing.  He was crying.  “Hey,” he said again, more softly this time.  “It’s okay.”

“It’s not _okay,_ ” Kurt said.  “Not okay by a long shot, David.”

It took much longer than it should have, but very slowly, it all clicked into place. Damn. Okay, maybe Kurt had an excuse for making this so hard. “You mean...Fuck. It’s me?” It was hard to believe, but it had to be. There was no other explanation, and Kurt wouldn’t sound like that if he wasn’t serious.

“Give the man a gold star,” muttered Kurt.

“Kurt,” he whispered.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

Dave heard him sigh bitterly.  “You’re not the only one who has trouble asking for the things you want.”

He had no idea what to say, but questions were flooding through his mind.  He asked the first one.  “How long... ?”

“What, you want an exact date?  I suppose I could let you read my diaries from high school, if you want to dredge all that ancient history back up.  Let’s just say... a long time.”

“But -- all the way back then?  You could have... you could have said."  He felt almost petulant. "I mean, we could have...”

“Yeah.  David.  Let’s try imagining this conversation with my dad, because God knows I’ve replayed it enough times in my head.  Me: Dad, remember that boy who used to torment me and draw on Finn’s face with permanent marker?  Yeah, I can’t stop thinking about him.  Dad: all right, Kurt, I’m going to make an appointment for you to see my psychiatrist.”  He laughed, entirely without humor.  “Me: No, Dad, I’m telling you, I’m in l-”

“Kurt,” Dave interrupted, feeling a little panicked.

“Uh-huh.  Wait, it gets better.  Dad: What about Blaine?  I thought you guys were, like, a forever thing.  Me: Well, the funny thing is, when _Blaine_ told me he was in love with me, I kind of freaked out and couldn’t say anything.  And when _David_ told me he was in love with me, I kind of -- do you see a pattern here?”

Dave tried to swallow, but he couldn’t even make his fingers lift the glass of water. 

“So now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to hang up, and go to bed, and in the morning we’re going to pretend I never --”

“No,” he protested.

“Trust me, David, it’s better this way.  It’ll all be okay; we’ve been friends for too long.  Give me a few days and it’ll be like I never drunk-dialled you with this hopeless sob story.  Really, it wouldn’t even make a good movie, and I _know_ what I’m talking about there.”

“No -”, he began, because it was all wrong, it shouldn’t be this way. “No, Kurt...” That was as far as he got, though, because really, what could he say.

“Yes.  It has to be like this.  Unless you can tell me, right now, that you’d rather be with me than with... anyone else.”  He sighed.  “And I know you can’t tell me that.  So -- goodnight, David, and please, don’t worry about me.  It’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, I know you will, but... I’m just sorry, that it’s not different.”

“Me, too.  Thank you.  Let’s both see if we can get some sleep, okay?”

The kitchen was silent for all too short a time before Dave heard sounds on the stairs.  He didn’t turn around to look. 

“What was that all about?” Puck asked, pulling up a chair of his own and flipping it around to sit backwards at the table.  Dave was somewhat relieved he’d paused to put on his boxers, because Puck was distracting enough without a shirt on.  “That was Kurt, wasn’t it?”

Dave nodded. He was still a bit stunned. “Yeah.”

Puck watched him for a moment, then reached out and touched his hand.  “You okay?”

“Sure. Yeah.” He actually thought he was, now. “He’d just...I guess he’d been drinking a bit, and was thinking about the past.” He shrugged. “It’ll be okay.”

“Well, whatever it was, it can wait until morning, huh?”  His tired eyes were steady on Dave.  “You want me to make you some tea, or can I get you to come back to bed?”

For a bare second, Dave saw Kurt sitting there at the table, Kurt reaching out his hands to touch Dave’s, Kurt offering to make him tea, to take him back to bed.  Then the image was gone, leaving a very real Puck there in front of him. “Yes,” he said, smiling a little. “You can.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in posting. Our writing has slowed down as life has intervened, but there's still plenty of story to tell, so we hope you'll stick around. Enjoy!  
> \- amy and penthea

 

Pascal didn't like being in a moving vehicle any more than the average cat, but in the past, Dave had been able to get him to calm down on the way to the vet by holding him in his lap and petting him constantly. It wasn't the safest way to drive, so Dave had always taken him on the bus. "You could try it," he suggested, when Pascal took one look at the cat carrier and bolted up the stairs. "He's got claws, though."

Puck shrugged. "I can handle a little shredding. If you can get him to come back downstairs, that is."

That was no problem. Dave just opened up a can of tuna fish. There was something about the sound of a can opener, even for cats like Pascal who'd never had a can of wet cat food in his life; it was like it was a biological response or something. Within ten seconds, Pascal was winding his sinuous way into the kitchen and rubbing up against Dave's legs, chirruping hopefully. Dave made sure there were no sharp edges on the lid of the aluminum can, and set it upside down on the floor for Pascal to lick.

Puck crouched down on the floor and scratched his ruff while Pascal made short work of the tuna. "Seems kind of dishonest to me, you know? Luring him here with the promise of tuna and then taking him to the v-e-t."

Dave smirked, but Puck was probably right that Pascal knew that word. Although he probably knew how to spell, too. "I don't know. It's not like we're  _not_ giving him tuna. Seems fair to me."

Puck snorted. "Really? You think it's fair, or you think we can get away with it because he's a cat? Because I'll tell you, my cat would hate me for weeks if I did that to her."

"Pascal's pretty forgiving," Dave admitted. "But I've never had a cat before, so I don't know how typical that is."

Puck sat down on the floor next to Pascal and coaxed him onto his lap, sitting there and petting him until he was curled into a warm ball, his eyes closed and ears pricked forward, crooning words of praise. Then he picked him up and nestled him into his arms, still stroking, and said quietly, "Okay, I think we can go now."

Pascal only dug in a little with his claws when they walked down the steps, and Dave managed to get the keys out from Puck's pocket and open the door to the passenger side for him without Pascal drawing blood. Pascal buried his head into the crook of Puck's arm and made a low, uncomfortable yowling noise.

"Don't worry," said Dave, when Puck looked concerned. "It's just what he does. He won't throw up on you or anything."

They drove slowly up the street toward the v-e-t. Dave wasn't sure if this was a good time to bring up the events of the previous night, but there was something safe about talking about personal things in a car. Not having to look the other guy in the eye probably had something to do with it.

"I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day," Dave said, and watched Puck stiffen. He felt a little guilty for making him deal with a freaking-out Pascal at the same time Dave was talking about this stuff, but he figured it was easier to discuss it openly than it was to ignore it.

"Dude." Puck shifted Pascal to his other arm and looked away. "I'm the one who sent you flowers, right? Who's apologizing to who, here?"

"Yeah, exactly. You sent flowers, but I'm the one who should have. That's why I wanted to talk to you. You didn't do anything wrong. You were the one keeping me from freaking out completely, remember? I mess up, and you say you're sorry...that doesn't seem right."

Puck shook his head, clearly annoyed. "Dude. You didn't mess up. You were just, you know, being honest. You thought you wanted something and then... you didn't. No big. It was me, pushing you into something... a little weird. So I'm just, I don't know. Sorry for making you do that." He scratched Pascal under the chin and murmured words of comfort; Dave thought maybe they were for himself, as much as for the cat.

It hurt to listen to, to watch, and what had he been thinking, starting this conversation in the car? "No, that's...that's not. You didn't." Maybe he'd just have to jump in, say all of it, never mind that it wasn't a very long drive or what would happen when they got there. "Sometimes, I - sometimes I can't do things, even if I want them. And if I hadn't...I'd still be responsible for...I don't know, not just leaving you like that."

Puck looked a little uncertain. "You think you're responsible for... uh, for that?"

_Yes._  And probably for what he wasn't saying, too, but Dave thought he should be careful what he said when Puck was already feeling like this. "I think...yeah, when I ask you to trust me like that? I think I need to not drop the ball. And I don't mean letting you push me into anything, or whatever it is you think you did." Dave wanted to touch him, to try to say with his hand what he couldn't make a sentence out of, but he didn't dare. "It just...it sucks that you think you did something so scary that you just expect me to run."

"Not scary, exactly. I know you're not scared. You're one of the bravest guys I know." He detached one of Pascal's rear claws from his forearm with masterful tolerance. "I guess I just figure that nobody ever wants what I want, so it's not surprising to find out that you don't either."

Dave didn't look at him. "And I'm trying to tell you, I think you're wrong about that."

"Wrong about... what?" Puck shot him a wary glare. "I think by now I have a pretty fucking good sense for what I want, even if it's... whatever. And trust me, nobody else wants that."

"God, Puck, would you listen to me?" Dave heard his own voice, felt the frustration building, and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder of the road. When they were standing still, he could finally look at Puck, who was sitting silent.

"Puck, you're wrong. Okay, you know what you want, but you don't know about me. It's not true that nobody wants that. Because I do, okay? It freaked me out, sure, but you know what else freaked me out at first? Every fucking thing I ever wanted in my whole life."

Puck flinched back from the force of his words. Pascal took advantage of his distraction to scramble out of his arms and huddle on the floor by his feet, panting in distress. He let him go, and sighed. "Yeah, I know. I remember, all the way back in high school." He paused, then added, with some heat, "And trust me, no matter how confident I seemed, I was just as freaked out as you were."

Puck trailed his hand by his ankle, letting Pascal smell his fingers, and put a hand on the cat's cocoa-colored head. Eventually he glanced sideways at Dave.

"You do, huh?" he said. "Want that?"

Dave looked up, out the window, anywhere but at Puck. "Yeah. I think I might. When I'm ready to handle it."

Puck nodded, clearly struggling with this, but not upset, just thoughtful. "So... what, it's just too much, right now?"

"Some of it, maybe. You know I'm not - I guess there's just stuff getting in the way. And I'm not that good at... people, or talking, or whatever." Dave looked down at his hands.

Puck shook his head. "Dave... I don't know, man; you seem to think you're shortchanging me here somehow, by not being able to... do everything, all at once. Fuck that. This - just you and me, and - and  _Pascal,_  sitting here in the car - eating breakfast together, hanging out - everything we did at your house yesterday, and the day  _before,_ and..." His hand was up in the air, holding up the enormity of everything he was naming, and he laughed a little before he let it drop. "Everything you... give me. That's a lot. That's a hell of a lot."

Puck reached over, grabbed one of Dave's hands off his lap and gripped it tight. Dave stared at their joined hands, startled, then up at Puck. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Pascal's yowled complaint. Puck cracked a grin, and Dave found himself laughing, the tension easing.

He felt Puck's hand squeezing his. "Whatever's in the way," Puck said softly, "it doesn't really matter, okay? Because even if you're not so good at talking, or people, you're good at..." Puck tilted his head. "You're good at me."

Dave smiled, and squeezed his hand back. He didn't know what to say, but maybe Puck was right, maybe that didn't matter, at least right now. "Okay," he said, looking at Pascal. "Um. Maybe we should get moving again, before he gets really impatient." He leaned over and kissed Puck quickly, trying to let him know he'd heard all those words, and appreciated them, even if he didn't have any himself right then.

They pulled into the parking lot outside the brown brick building. Puck dug under the seat to scoop up the protesting form of Pascal, bundling him against his chest and giving a muffled curse at his clutching claws. The receptionist looked startled to see Puck wrestling with the unhappy cat, but she quickly herded them into a room and shut the door behind them. Pascal found himself in the center of an unfamiliar room, and after a brief, terrified moment, he hid under Dave's chair, staring up at them with a wounded expression.  _What did I do to deserve this?_ he seemed to be saying.  _No tuna is worth this shit._

"Sorry, buddy," Puck said, leaning forward on his knees and rubbing the puncture wounds on his arms. "You've got to get your teeth cleaned some time." He smirked at Dave. "Penumbra gets so freaked out, we have to sedate her when she goes to the v- the cat doctor."

"Uh, we're here now," Dave said an undertone, "so I think you can say  _vet_  without too much fear of reprisal."

Puck ducked his head down and peered at Pascal under the chair, extending upside-down fingers for the cat to sniff, but Pascal was having none of it. "Well, I guess he's not going anywhere." He glanced back up at Dave, just for a moment, his voice muffled. "So what was Kurt going on about on the phone last night, anyway?"

Dave stared at the information poster on the wall. "I don't know if... the past, I guess. History. Stuff that never even happened." He bent down a little, sort of as a gesture of trying to help but not enough to actually see or do anything. "Can we talk about that when we're not - here?"

Puck raised one eyebrow; from his inverted position, it dropped toward the floor in an ironic u-shape. "What, you think Pascal's going to tell on you or something?"

"No." Pascal kept all of his secrets perfectly. And Puck should know that, and recognize a hint when it hit him in the face. "Just, not now, okay?"

"Okay," he shrugged, straightening up. He looked like he might say something else, but then the vet came in, and it was set aside. They managed to wrestle Pascal out from under the chair and onto the table without any more bloodshed.

The appointment was routine. Dave didn't feel too guilty about not brushing Pascal's teeth, the way the vet always told him to, and Pascal made a brave show while he was poked and prodded by an unfamiliar woman. The vet accepted Puck in the room without comment. Dave wondered if people thought they were brothers, or what. Maybe there were plenty of guy roommates with shared custody of pets; he had no idea.

They booked Pascal another appointment for six months in the future, and Puck made adequate small talk with the receptionist while Dave got Pascal back into the car. Pascal made a lot less trouble on the way back, leaving Dave free to worry about Puck and how he'd refused to answer his question about Kurt. It felt wrong for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on...and wasn't the guilt a sign that he probably should be telling Puck about it? Or did not telling make it worse? Was this the kind of thing a boyfriend should know? He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. "So, um, Kurt."

Puck hit the turn signal and nodded, coming around the corner carefully, so as not to disturb the cowering cat on the floor. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dave sighed. "You know we've been friends for years, right? And he's called me sometimes in the middle of the night because of things that...Kurt emergencies, you know? But last night - I guess he - " He stopped, not knowing what he actually believed had happened, himself. "He said he's in love with me."

Puck's eyes were steady on the road, but Dave could see the surprise in his expression. "He... really? … Wow."

"Yeah, wow." Dave shook his head. "He said he'd felt like that for - a while, but he sure never told me about it. And, it was three in the morning and maybe it was just him wanting to go back to being nineteen, or something, but...I thought you should know."

"Yeah. Fuck. Uh, thanks for telling me, I guess?" Puck's fingers flexed, gripping the steering wheel briefly, then releasing. He shifted forward in his seat. "The two of you - I mean, you guys have a lot of history. And you really had no idea?"

"No, I...I guess, there was something, a long time ago, like, in high school. But that was mostly me. Or that's what I thought. And then I got over that, and he let me, so how would I know there was more?"

"I don't know, man; Kurt's always been kind of a mystery to me." Puck's sigh sounded more annoyed than anything else, but Dave couldn't be sure. He eyed the two feet of space between their seats, wondering if he should do something about spanning that. Eventually Puck glanced at him, just for a moment, and then away again. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing?" Dave shrugged. "It sucks, but there's nothing I can do. Maybe give him some space, but I don't want him to think I don't want to be friends anymore, so... pretend it didn't happen? I don't know what's worse."

"You think he'd let you get away with that?" Puck shook his head as he drummed a beat on the wheel. "I don't know... if I was in love with my best friend, I don't think I could just pretend it wasn't real. Sounds like he's looking for something more, here."

"Maybe. Half the time I have no idea what he wants or what he's on about, anyway. And anyway, he's been pretending just fine for, what, five years, right?"

"Yeah. So something changed, right?" Puck pulled into the driveway and paused outside the garage, staring at Dave now like he had some hidden meaning to impart. "Gosh, I wonder what that was."

Dave stared back at him. "You mean, it's about you? Like now that he knows I'm in love with someone else, he can tell me, because nothing's actually going to happen?"

"Well, I don't know, Dave," he snapped. "Is it?" Puck shoved open the driver's side door, and in a shot, Pascal had leapt out between his legs and disappeared beneath the juniper bushes. Puck did a quick three-sixty, trying to grab him, but Pascal was gone. He swore and hit the side of his truck in frustration.

Dave walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's fine. He'll come back." Puck still looked worried, but probably not about Pascal. Dave moved closer, placing his arm around him and a hand on his back. "And, what are you thinking? That I'm going to leave you to go be with Kurt?"

Puck wouldn't meet Dave's eyes. "Maybe. Yeah, why not? Big shot scriptwriter - and don't tell me you weren't hot for him. It could still happen. You guys'd be good together."

Dave shook his head impatiently. "Puck. I have a boyfriend right here, okay? I love you." He took in Puck's sharp breath and shocked expression, and decided they probably should bring this into his house. He led him in and shut the door behind them, then gripped his shoulders.

" _We're_ good together. Do you think all of...this, that a guy I like as a friend and had some feelings for in high school, can come close to that?"

Puck shrugged, but he was smiling now. "Hey, I had feelings for you in fucking middle school. I don't think there's a competition here."

"No, and if it were about who was there first, you'd still win." He put his arms tightly around Puck. "Not to mention, you're way hotter. No offense to him, you're hard to compete with."

"You too," Puck breathed. He managed to maneuver one hand out of the tight hug to touch Dave's face. His eyes were alight now, with gratitude and desire and all kinds of things that made Dave's heart beat a little faster. "You're totally what I want. I guess I was just freaking out about the idea of you realizing that you had something else. That maybe, if you had a choice, you'd... well, you'd leave."

Dave couldn't help but laugh a little. "Babe, I'm not leaving you. Come on, I can't believe I'm lucky enough to  _have_  you."

"Oh, yeah, you  _have_  me, all right." Puck pressed his lips against Dave's neck. "You can  _have_  me about any way you want."

All the words Dave considered saying in response to that trickled away, until he was left with nothing but the sensation of Puck's mouth on his skin. Dave loosened his hold, and that was all the permission Puck needed; he slipped his hands under Dave's shirt and tugged it over his head. They stumbled back against the couch, all tangled limbs and hands grasping and tongues slick.

"I'm definitely the lucky one, here," Puck muttered, gazing up at Dave with dark eyes, and kissed him in the center of his chest, slowly working his way down. "Really... lucky."

Dave was pretty sure there was some kind of joke in there about getting lucky, but his brain wasn't functioning well enough to parse it. He just leaned back against the couch and tried to keep his breathing going as Puck unzipped his jeans.

"I guess I understand how Kurt feels," Puck went on, tugging the jeans down over Dave's hips. "I was in love with you for a hell of a long time, and I never thought I'd get a chance to tell you that. But it's good, to be honest, even if it's hard. Even if you're not sure what the other person's going to say back." He trailed his hand up Dave's chest, then back down, over his stomach and along the inside of his thigh.

"Anytime, now," Dave said through gritted teeth, feeling each touch like a shock to his core. "You can shut up about Kurt  _anytime."_

Puck chuckled, low and confident, which Dave still thought was one of the sexiest fucking things he had ever heard. "Got it. Shutting up... now."

And of course the  _way_  he shut up was inspiring all on its own. Dave felt himself arching up off the cushion, and Puck nudged his hips back down, wedging himself in closer between Dave's half-clad legs. He wasn't quite sure how they'd gone from arguing about past possible relationships to a blowjob on his couch, but he really, really wasn't complaining. It was just about the best outcome he could think of, actually.

When things had quieted down afterwards, Puck crawled up onto the couch beside him. Dave turned his head with some effort and gave him a weak smile. "How're you doing?" he murmured.

"I'm good," said Puck, one hand on Dave's chest. "Thanks."

Dave chuckled, incredulous. "You're thanking  _me?"_

"Sure." He didn't look even a little bit embarrassed. "That was awesome. Totally getting what I want here, remember?"

Dave remembered. "Still hard to believe, I guess. Don't you want... I mean, can I...?" He coughed a little, turning red. Puck just gave him a smile.

"I'm good," he said again. "Really." He hesitated, then said, "You're not just humoring me, are you? I mean, you're not just letting me do this because... I don't know, you feel sorry for me, or you don't want me to feel bad, or something?"

Now Dave absolutely couldn't hold back his laughter. "You're serious?"

Puck made a face. "I guess I'm thinking of Pascal and the tuna. I mean... yeah, he got to eat this awesome treat, but he got lured in with one kind of promise, and ended up in a whole different situation than he expected."

"Puck. Come on. I'm... I'm not a can of tuna, all right? I'm your boyfriend, and that was totally hot." Dave gave him a kiss. "I wanted that. A lot. God, who  _wouldn't?_ "

Puck nodded, but his silence stretched out long enough that Dave had to poke him to get him to say something. "I feel bad for Kurt, okay?" he said finally, and sighed. "Dude. It's stupid. But I can't stop thinking about what I would have done if you guys had ever decided to... "

"But we didn't," Dave interrupted. "Forget that. Kurt's a hell of a lot stronger than you're giving him credit for. He'll be all right. We've been friends this long, and we'll keep being friends. I mean, he was pretty drunk when we talked. Maybe he won't even remember what he said." He heard himself telling the story as much to himself as to Puck.  _Wishful thinking -_ because Kurt would remember every word, and things between them would be awkward and strained. And yet, with Puck here beside him, he could almost believe it: maybe, maybe it really would be okay, eventually. He said it again, just to help it along: "He'll be all right."

"Okay," said Puck, like he just accepted Dave's words. Like Dave knew what he was doing, or something.  _He trusts me,_  he realized _._  It was a warm, heady feeling, kind of dangerous, but wonderful, too, and he had to kiss him again. This time it was deeper, and went on for longer. When he was done, Puck was shaky and breathless, and Dave simply stared at him for a while, keeping his arm around him, feeling the heat of his body and the tiny little movements under his hand. Had Dave just done that to him? Really?

"God, Dave," Puck whispered. "I just love you so fucking much."

Dave nodded, smiling. "Yeah?" he whispered back. "That makes two of us."

* * *

The book sat on the nightstand by Dave's bed for two nights before he picked it up. Puck's bookmark was tucked inside, about two and a half chapters in at that time. Dave just read a tiny bit of the chapter where Puck was before putting it back exactly where Puck had left it. He read a little every night that way, after that. He told himself he wasn't checking up on Puck, at all, that he just was curious, and wanted to stay caught up with what Puck might be thinking mathematically and biographically. And maybe that was true, a little.

"You're reading it, too, huh?" Puck asked him one Saturday morning, when he picked it up from the nightstand.

Dave felt instantly guilty, even if he couldn't really explain why. "I've been looking at it. It's interesting."

Puck propped his pillow right up next to Dave's and sat down next to him with the book, casually invading the personal space Dave had established around himself. It didn't feel awful. "It's slow going," Puck admitted. "But yeah, interesting. I mean, I read some with my sister when I'm home, but she doesn't know half the words, and it's like ripping out nose hairs to get her to care about math." He glanced at Dave, then back at the book.

"Um." Dave wasn't sure if he should offer, but he didn't think Puck would be too offended, even if he didn't like the idea. "Maybe...I could read it to you. If you wanted. Since I'm already reading it anyway?"

Puck looked a little startled, but he was smiling. "Uh... sure, that'd be fine. If you don't mind. Sarah says it's a lot slower for her to read out loud than to read in her head."

"No, I don't mind." Dave took the book from Puck's hand. "At least I don't think I do? I don't really read out loud." He turned his head and looked down at Puck slouching beside him. "We could just try and see how it goes."

Puck was as good a listener in his bed as he was in class, and if Dave was a little bit distracted by the feeling of Puck's arm brushing up against him, it was okay. The math wasn't actually that complicated, and the book  _was_  interesting. Dave went through the chapter about Galileo and Bolzano before setting it on his stomach.

"How was that?" he asked, feeling a little anxious.

Puck rested his head on Dave's shoulder. "You're a good reader."

"Thank you." Dave tucked one arm around him, pulling him snug against his chest. "Hey, Bolzano was the one with the intermediate value theorem, right? Did you know that proves that there are always two points, exactly across each other on the globe, that are the same temperature?" He traced a line up and down Puck's arm with his finger. "Or elevation, or whatever, anything that varies continuously around a circle. The shade of tan on your arm." He smiled. "I guess there's an infinite number of points like that, actually, because there's a pair on any random circle that you pick. My calculus professor told us. I don't know what you'd do with that knowledge, but I thought it was neat."

Puck smiled, looking down at their feet. "Really? Wow."

"Yeah." Dave stretched around Puck to put the book back on the nightstand, stopping on the way to drop a kiss on his head. "I'll show you the proof later, if you want. Or you could probably figure it out yourself. Star student." He smiled, and instead of sitting back against the pillow, he kept leaning sideways over Puck, supporting himself on one arm. "And no, I'm not just saying that because you're sleeping with the teacher."

Puck smirked at him, an  _oh really?_  look on his face, but he said nothing. Dave swung one leg over to straddle his, and grabbed his upper arms. "Really. But you probably shouldn't stop, just in case, huh?"

Dave couldn't help but grin at the stunned expression on Puck's face as he kissed him thoroughly. Finally Puck managed to pull away.

"Breakfast?" Dave suggested. "I need some oatmeal before I go, or I'll crash so bad you'll have to drive sixty miles to come rescue me from a ditch somewhere."

"All right." Puck allowed Dave to drag him up and out of bed. "Breakfast sounds like a wise idea, then. I've got a karate class to teach, and I'd hate to leave you lying there until I was done."

* * *

The early October weather was still pleasant enough that they decided to sit on the back deck to study and prep, although the wind would occasionally pick up their papers and try to make off with them. Pascal was curled up into a tiny purring ball on Dave's lap.

Dave looked up from his own work at Puck, who was frowning at his binder. From what Dave could see, it might be some kind of linear algebra, maybe.

"Is this even for my class?" He nodded at the paper Puck was scribbling on.

"Kind of?" Puck shrugged. "I was reading the chapter about bijections, and and I realized I don't know as much as I should of this matrix stuff to really get it, so I found this."

Dave smiled. He knew Puck was smart, and motivated, he saw it every week in class and in between, too, but it was always a little extra rush of something not unlike pride, when he showed it off like this. "Want to tell me what that confused look is about? It's been a while since I took lin alg, but maybe I can help."

"Yeah. Um, I don't know." Pascal leapt down from Dave's lap and wound around Puck's legs, looking for more attention, and Puck put an absent-minded hand on his head. He hunched over the book, tapping it with his pencil. "This thing, here? I don't get what that has to do with functions."

"Okay, so...let me see where they're going with this." Dave scanned the page. "All right, do you know what the span is? Of a set of vectors? "

"I think so. That's something to do with linear combinations too, right?"

"Yeah, exactly. So, the span is the space of all the combinations, right?" Dave waved his hands in a gesture that didn't really demonstrate anything except maybe, if you were being generous, the general concept of space. "Sort of everywhere you can get to with the vectors you have."

Puck nodded, scratching Pascal's chest. The cat flopped down onto his back, exposing his belly to the sun. "Yeah. So if you had two vectors, the span would be a plane?"

"Yeah, usually, or it could be a line. So, if those vectors are the columns of your matrix, see?" Dave pointed at the grid of numbers on the page. "And when you multiply this in..." He showed with two fingers how he'd mentally lift the vector off the page and place it across the matrix. "...see how you're making a linear combination of the columns? So anything that comes out here...is going to be in the space that those columns span."

Pascal started grooming Puck's hand, but that didn't seem to interfere with his ferocious concentration. "Yeah, okay, so the rank would be...the dimension of the column space? And that's, kind of like the image of a function?"

Dave grinned. "Yes." He leaned over and kissed him, not because he thought Puck really needed rewards to motivate him or anything, it was just hard to resist. "Damn. If I leave you alone here for ten minutes, you're probably going to prove the first isomorphism theorem or something." He laughed when Puck actually looked excited by this idea.

"Hey, you're the first person who's bothered to explain all this stuff to me that I guess I should already know. And, well." He shrugged sheepishly, pulling Pascal into his lap. "It's interesting, okay?"

"Start with the rank-nullity theorem, then, if you can't help yourself." Dave took the book from the table and turned a few pages. "Here. Plenty of dimensions to think about. And the idea applies to a lot more stuff than just matrix transformations."

Puck was immediately absorbed, and Dave smiled. He moved back to his own end of the table and attempted to find the argument he'd been following in the very dense text.

They sat like that for a while, quietly working side by side, Pascal purring loudly enough to be heard now, and Dave looking up every few minutes just to stare and wonder how on earth this had become his life. Eventually Puck broke the silence.

"So, if you're missing a dimension...you'd know because there aren't enough vectors? Or the ones you have are linearly dependent?"

"Yeah. And, I guess, if you knew you were in a higher dimension space, you could build one from the ones you have, you know, like the cross product? I'm not sure how that generalizes. Or you'd just have to be lucky and...find one." Dave glanced at Puck. "One that...had that orthogonal component you were missing."

Puck smirked. "I think some people would say I'm missing a couple of those. But, heh, yeah." His smile softened. "I know what you mean. All I know is my own dimension, but - if another one crossed it, suddenly, there'd be like, whoa, a whole different possible space. Pretty awesome. And startling, like - all these things about the world you never realized were possible before. Right?"

"Yes, like if you're a plane, right? And you're living in your plane doing plane things and everything you touch gets projected down into the same plane, because that's what you do, that's your transformation matrix." Dave had no idea what he was talking about, not really, but he thought he could say it anyway when it was sort of half math.

"And maybe...you've got some idea that it's really 3D space out there, right, but you can't get there, you don't have that basis vector that gets you...out. Up." He looked at Puck, then back down at his right hand, watching himself make the right hand rule shape that he'd learned to remember which way the cross product should point. "And maybe you can't remember how to do this orthogonal product thing, or you're some kind of different vector space where it doesn't even exist, or whatever. You can't do it." He sighed. Not that he could relate to that, or anything.

"But I guess if you're lucky a...vector, shows up that just...attaches to you, I suppose, but it keeps being itself too, pointing off in that direction you could never quite grasp. And then you can go there, with them."

Puck gazed down at Pascal in his lap. "But...like, what if you never intersect with any of the right vectors? You wouldn't have anywhere to go. Or - what if you had a vector in mind, but it turns out you make a dependent set together? Or you don't have the right number of rows to fit, or..." Now he was starting to look a little desperate.

"Oh. No." Dave smiled. "There are enough rows - or if not, don't worry, there are ways to fix that. And the span always includes the zero vector, see? If nothing else, they could meet there."

Puck's shoulders relaxed a little, and he nodded. "Meet me at the origin, huh?"

Dave smiled at Puck's concern for lonely vector sets, but also thought he knew how he felt. "And, hey, maybe your column space could meet another nice plane, or something. They'd have a whole line to work with."

Puck dropped Pascal to the floor, stood up and came over to crouch down beside Dave's chair. "I don't think I want another nice plane," he said softly. "I think I know what I want."

"Do you really," Dave said, pulling Puck closer until he was sitting on his knees on the floor, resting against Dave's legs. He leaned forward and rubbed the skin behind Puck's ear gently with his thumb. "Good," he mumbled into the short fuzz of his hair. "Me too."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've signed up to write the Kurt-OT3 Big Bang! And you get one guess as to which characters we might find in our threesome. Look for it this summer. But don't panic, the endgame is still Puckofsky.  
> -amy and penthea

"I think she's pissed about something," Puck murmured to Dave on the way up the sidewalk to Shelby's house.

Dave looked dubious. "How can you tell? She always seems pissed to me."

"Yeah, it's a specific quality to her pissed-ness. I guess I got to know it after a while." He knocked on the front door, leaning against the railing. Sure enough, Shelby's glare seemed particularly focused today.

"I told her not to leave her bike outside overnight," she said, beckoning them into the house. "It wasn't like it was the first time she'd ever done it. I'm just about ready to tell her it's a lesson in natural consequences, but she really would go nuts without a bike."

"What happened to it?" Dave asked.

"Borrowed," Puck replied, with air quotes. "It's not the best neighborhood, yeah, but - you'd think people would leave kids' bikes alone, right? Especially purple ones with flowers on them?"

"Not  _my_  first choice," Shelby muttered. She handed them each a glass of water. "Anyway, I saw a circular in the paper about a sale on kids' bikes at Target."

Dave swallowed his water. He didn't know if he dared to say anything, but he couldn't let Beth end up with a Target bike. He looked at Puck. "You can't let her ride one of those," he said. "They probably have princesses on them, or something, but they weigh 30 pounds, and all the parts will be some kind of completely non-standard dimension, so when it breaks, which it will, it's impossible to replace."

Puck met Shelby's skeptical frown. "He knows what he's talking about," he said.

"I'm sorry," Dave said, "It's up to you. But if you wanted, I could help you find a real bike for her that's not too expensive. Second hand, maybe? I know some places to look, even if it's not really the season for it."

"Trust me, man, the cost isn't going to be a problem." Puck rolled his eyes as he set his empty glass in the sink. "She has ridiculously generous uncles, aunts, grandparents... and a hell of a lot of them."

"All right." Dave smiled. "In that case, I saw some little mountain bikes at the bike shop that I think would be perfect. I don't think they were purple, but they had real disc brakes."

Shelby shook her head. "She doesn't need purple. Do you think she'll be safe on a fancy bike like that, though?"

"Safer than on a bad one, I think. She might get a bit more speed, but it would be easier to control. And if it's one that's fun to ride off the road, you wouldn't have to worry about traffic as much."

Puck and Shelby did that talking-with-their-eyes thing in which parents seemed to be expert. Dave could even understand most of it. Shelby said  _I don't know, it sounds kind of like a big investment for an eight-year-old_  with lots of wrinkles in her forehead _,_  and Puck replied with an eyebrow,  _come on, live a little - she's only going to be eight once, and besides, she's generally a responsible kid._

"I can teach her how to ride safely," Dave heard himself saying, and then paused, wondering if he'd gone too far. But to his surprise, Shelby was the one who nodded.

"I think I'd feel okay about it if I knew you were looking out for her, Dave," she said.

"Really? Thank you." Dave still felt out of place and uncomfortable in her house, like he should apologize for something, except he didn't quite know what, and now that he wasn't talking about bikes anymore he was suddenly very aware of it again. But Puck's delighted grin kind of made it all worth it.

They wound up browsing online and making a few phone calls before, with Dave's input, they decided on a "boy's" model that looked like a smaller, simplified version of a real adult sized mountain bike, and a helmet and a bike lock to go with it.

"You should be there when we give it to her," Puck said as they drove to Dick's to pick it up.

"Really? You think..." Dave shook his head. "Okay."

"Sure. She trusts you, and I think you're the clear favorite for actually riding with her. Do you think you could show her how to use the lock?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know how to use a bike lock...but maybe you and Shelby want to be the ones to do the serious lecture part? Isn't that a parent job?"

Puck grinned. "Hey, what's one more parent?"

They actually hadn't had any kind of conversation about whether or not Dave wanted kids, but he figured it was a moot point. Puck  _did_  have a kid. She was pretty great, too. And he did think he wanted some, at some point, far into the future. There were all sorts of complications, of course. Kids had been part of his fantasy from way back when he thought he was going to try to be normal, and then later he hadn't been able to even consider trusting himself with a whole person, or thought he'd have the conscience to let a kid go through school, or life, with two dads, especially if one of them was him. But he had to admit that seeing Puck with Beth had changed some things. He pulled himself together.  _Some day, a very long time from now._  And right now, there was a real kid right here that was going to get a shiny new bike.

Dick's had everything they needed, including a helmet in an impressive shade of fuchsia. Dave folded the seat down in the back of the rental car and carefully fit the bike inside. Once they got back to Shelby's, they managed to dredge Beth up from the passing gaggle of neighborhood kids. She was willing to stop once she saw Puck.

"Hey, we've got something for you," he said, pulling her over to sit on his leg. "But I want to talk to you about it first. I heard your bike got stolen."

She gave an adorable eight-year-old grimace. "I totally know who it was," she swore, "but he won't 'fess up, and I don't know where he put it."

"Well, if it turns up, we can deal with it then. But you were ready for a new bike, anyway. The point is, you can't leave it lying around like that. Not this one, especially. Dave picked it out just for you."

Beth's version of the Puckerman delighted grin was so much like her dad's that Dave had to smile back. He tried to school his face into something appropriately stern, and pulled out the lock he had also picked out for her.

"So we got you this, so you can leave your bike safely if you're going in somewhere. You should still take it inside at night, but if you lock it to something, like a tree, you should be okay. So the bad guys can't just pick it up and walk away with it."

"Hey, cool!" She played with the lock, spinning the combination with her fingers.

"I set the combination to my birthday," Puck smirked. "Now you won't forget it. I totally could never remember my Ma's."

Dave showed her how to make sure the lock went through both the frame and the back wheel, not that anyone would probably steal a wheel from a kid's bike, but better to learn good habits. Puck gave her a meaningful stare. "So what do you think's gonna happen if you forget, and leave  _this_  bike outside, not locked up?"

"Uh... I don't think I'll be getting another one," she said sheepishly.

Puck glanced at Dave for support. Dave stared back. Really? But he composed himself and tried to look serious. "I think that's a good guess," he told her.

"Okay," she muttered. "Jeez. So where's the bike?"

She hopped excitedly around the trunk of the car and let out a crazed monkey yell when Puck unloaded it. "Blue's my favorite color," she told Dave, hanging on his arm. "Can we ride? Right now? Come  _on!"_

Dave grinned at Puck over her head. "Please?"

Puck's face went red, but he rolled his eyes and handed the helmet to Beth. "Here. Dave can show you how to put that on the right way. I'll go let your mom know."

"Okay, so we need to fix this so it will stay on your head." Beth put the helmet on, and Dave fiddled with the buckle in the back until it was snug. "Don't play with this, okay? If it's too loose, it's not going to do any good. If you need room for a hat or ponytails or something, you can get your mom to help you."

Beth fastened the chin strap, looking solemn. Then she hugged him. She hadn't treated him any differently from other adults in her life. He figured she was a little young for homophobia to be causing problems socially. Still, he'd been reluctant to get too snuggly with her.  _Not my kid,_  he told himself, but he hugged her back.

Dave had no idea where he'd heard it, probably some bike magazine, but he suddenly remembered how Beth was always climbing all over everything. "And if you get off your bike to play, or climb trees, you take it off, okay?" He didn't think he should go into detail about what might happen, at least without checking with Puck first. "Always. I'm serious."

"Okay, Dave," she nodded. She gripped the handlebars and swung a leg over, perching on the seat. "This is  _so cool."_

"Wow, you look like a real cyclist. I'll just get my own bike, and then we can go, if your dad's ready." He went to get his and Puck's bikes - actually, both his, but he'd brought the extra thinking Puck might want to borrow it - while keeping one eye on Beth to make sure she didn't get impatient and ride off without them.

When Puck came back, Dave realized that he only had one helmet. Normally he wouldn't make a big deal out of that, at least not if they were only riding at eight year old speeds in the park, but if Puck was going to be on his bike...he wasn't sure if he liked that idea. "Shelby didn't have an extra helmet for you?", he asked, like he expected Puck to have thought about that.

Puck looked startled, and maybe a little guilty. "Uh. You really think I need one?"

"Maybe not, but..." He glanced at Beth. "It's just that if we're going to be strict about her wearing it, you should set a good example, right? You know how much she wants to be just like her dad."

He pushed his road bike towards Puck. He raised his eyebrows at him. "You're going to let me borrow your baby?"

Dave didn't say anything about how Puck seemed to be just fine with Dave borrowing his actual daughter. "Yeah. You'll have to be careful if you take her off the road, but it should be fine. And seriously, you think I'd let you ride the fixie? No brakes, remember?"

"Oh - yeah. I'd totally crash." Puck grinned, like this wouldn't be much of a tragedy. "Okay. I'll be careful."

"I know." He smiled back and nodded towards Beth, who was still sitting on her bike, very ready to go. "We should get going, or I think she might give up and leave without us."

* * *

Dave was leaving in four days. It wasn't like he didn't know that, he'd been working on his presentation all week. And planning to do laundry so he'd have his good shirts clean, and making sure he had a suitcase to use. It was impossible to deny that he was preparing to go to a conference.

What he hadn't done was tell Puck about it, and it was getting harder and harder to convince himself that it was not a big deal. He was just going away for a few days for a conference, he told himself. He was not disappearing with no warning again. Except if he didn't say something very soon, he kind of was.

At this point, he would have to apologize for not saying something, and soon they'd start making plans for the week when he'd be gone, so Dave was getting uncomfortable talking to Puck at all. And what if Puck was picking up on that?  _Then_  when Dave told him he was leaving, he'd definitely worry about it.

Dave also hadn't talked to Kurt, not since everything suddenly got incredibly complicated, so even if they had made plans to meet while he was there, Dave had no idea if that was still happening. And calling to ask if they were talking, or if that was too awkward, wasn't exactly less awkward.

He just couldn't think about it. Then Puck called on Friday afternoon and left two voice mail messages that Dave didn't answer, telling himself he had to finish his homework first. Then Puck called again. The ringtone was long and loud. Dave sighed and picked up the phone.

"What's the matter?" Puck said, sounding annoyed.

"Nothing," Dave replied.

"Dude, you didn't pick up earlier. I was trying to figure out this weekend. Beth's with Shelby, so we could go camping. Or there was that 5k in Lima. What do you want to do?"

There was no way Dave could answer that and be honest without explaining everything. "I'm not going to be around this weekend."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Actually, I'm leaving Wednesday."

There was a lengthy pause. "You, uh. You have somebody to cover your class?"

That that was Puck's first question kind of hurt Dave's heart a little, but he told him, "It's all set. One of the postdocs is going to teach Thursday and Friday. I'll be back Monday. It's... an academic conference, in Los Angeles."

"Oh," he said again. "That one that was posted on the bulletin board?"

"Yeah. I'm giving a talk on group theory. Lie algebras."

Puck cleared his throat. "You were going to tell me, right?"

"Yeah," Dave said, sounding as miserable as he felt. "I... well, it's not a big deal, right? Five days. We can handle five days."

"Maybe  _you_  can," Puck snapped. "Fuck that. Yeah, I bet you were looking forward to a week away. Take a little break, have a couple days without dealing with -"

"Puck. No, what...no." God, this was already exactly the mess he'd been afraid it would be.

Puck took a deep breath. "Whatever. You go ahead, have your conference. I'll be fine."

Dave sat down, or he stopped standing and the couch just happened to be there to catch him. How did Puck get to say things like that when he wasn't there? "Yeah, you will. Because it's really not like that, okay? You remember where I'm going? And you know who else happens to live in Los Angeles? I'm going to have to talk in front of all this people, and deal with Kurt, and you think that's a break?" By the end of that he was almost angry enough that he could handle not having Puck there, not being able to hold him and make sure he was listening. He hoped it maybe was enough.

"I think it's pretty clear what's going on." Puck's voice was stony. "I'll see you when you get back. Or maybe not, you'll have to let me know. Maybe I'll call Kurt and get the scoop myself. He can tell me if I've still got a boyfriend by the end of the weekend. Have a fucking good presentation."

He didn't stick around to hear Dave's response. Dave swore and threw his phone at the couch - gently, so it wouldn't get damaged, of course, but...shit, why did he do that? He picked up the phone, making sure it really was okay. Then he punched the couch instead, feeling like an idiot before his fist even hit it. It was too soft to be satisfying, but hard enough to hurt. He swore again.

He'd have to call him back. Probably right away, because he was not letting Puck sit around thinking that for a moment longer than he had to.

Puck didn't pick up, but Dave expected that. He left a brief message: "I'm just going to keep calling back until you pick up, so you might as well. Because... dammit, you didn't hear what I was saying, and I love you, and this isn't okay."

The second time he called, he hung up without leaving a message. The third time, he said more or less the same as the first, except he added "...and if you don't pick up, I'm going to get on my bike, and I'm going to ride all the way to Lima and show up at your door, about...five hours from now. And if you don't let me in, I'll wake up your sister. I bet she'd love that at 3am."

The fourth time he called, Puck answered. He didn't say anything for a minute.

"You should have told me," he said finally.

"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."

His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I love you, too."

Dave swallowed on the ridiculous lump in his throat. "Five days," he pleaded. "Really. It's going to be okay."

"Uh-huh. Well... you need me to take care of Pascal?"

"I'll call you, every day. And you don't have to do that."

"Yeah, like  _you_  didn't have to get on your fucking bike and drive to Lima. But you would have, wouldn't you?"

Dave laughed. "I probably would, yeah. I'd get to Dublin or something, before it got really dark and I realized how dumb that was, but then it would be too late to admit it. And..." He stopped, wondering if he was really going to say this. "I mean, if you...it wouldn't be that stupid."

"I think you actually believe that, dumbass." Puck sighed. "Yeah. And... I know you aren't going out there to see Kurt. I'm just going to miss you a hell of a lot. So let me feed your cat, okay?"

"Okay." Dave leaned his head on the wall and smiled. "I'll make you a key."

* * *

Dave hadn't expected to be asked to speak at this particular conference. He guessed it was an honor, but really, it just felt like a pain in the ass. His work wasn't going to revolutionize group theory, it was more like a small obscure hole that was boring and unimportant enough to leave until there was a grad student to keep busy, but maybe some physicist might find a use for it, or something. Right now, though, Dave didn't have a lot of motivation to stay focused on his topic.

Puck didn't see Dave off at the airport. He gave the excuse of needing to make up a brown belt test with one of his students, but Dave guessed there were other reasons. It was probably better this way, anyway. It was five days. People left their boyfriends for a week all the time. A big dramatic goodbye scene would be ridiculous.

He'd felt courageous after things with Puck went so well all weekend, so calling Kurt and confirming their plans wasn't so awkward. It didn't go as badly as he'd expected. Kurt had been mild and vague on the phone, as though he had other things on his mind. They hadn't spoken since Kurt's confession, and Dave didn't push him.

"Call me when you're done on Thursday," Kurt suggested. "I've got the evening off, and I'll take you to Rambutan for the best Thai you've ever had. Nothing in Ohio compares, trust me."

"That sounds great," Dave answered, hoping but not really believing that dinner would be as easy as this.

The flight was uneventful. Even the weather wasn't worth commenting on, although Dave had heard it was usually pretty mild most days in Los Angeles. He watched the odd vegetation and vaguely southwestern architecture out the taxi window with a sense of detachment. All he could think about was  _five days. I can do five days._

The Westin was teeming with academics from all parts of the country: thousands of mathematicians, stuffed into a single building for five days, there to discuss the minutiae of their research. The fact that this actually sounded pretty great to Dave felt like just another sign that he was doomed to eternal geekdom.

_Just the sort of guy who attracts a gorgeous karate instructor, right?_ Puck hadn't even asked what he was presenting on; after hearing about the basics of the conference, he'd left the topic behind. Dave hadn't expected him to make a big fuss about it, but still.

He got checked in at the front desk, picked up his ID badge and conference packet, and was considering finding a restaurant for lunch when he saw a familiar face sporting a blonde beard and talking animatedly to a small crowd of spectators. He was balancing a large, colorful structure that looked a little like a first grade art project, except much more complicated, trying to protect it from the curious onlookers and the more general threat of collapse, while also gesticulating eagerly and pointing out the details of his - whatever that thing was.

His eyes lit up when he saw Dave. "Hey, if it isn't Dave Karofsky!"

"I thought that was you, Vincent," Dave said, reaching out a hand to help steady the structure. "Need a hand?"

Vincent looked worried for a moment, then grateful. He grinned. "Thank you. This thing hasn't really found the stable equilibrium I hoped for. But doesn't it look awesome?"

"Entirely," Dave agreed, because that was exactly Vincent. They wrangled the contraption to an empty table along the wide hallway. "So you stuck with math after all? I thought you might end up in astrophysics for graduate school. Where are you now?"

"Oh, I'm here, at UCLA. Math, obviously, graph theory. As you can see." He gestured at the thing on the table.

Dave looked at it. Then he looked again, from a different angle. It still looked like a lot of wire with bits of paper attached to it. Brightly colored bits of paper that might be post-it notes. "What is that thing, anyway?"

"It's a hypohamiltonian graph. The post-its are the vertices, see? You can pick off any one of them, and voila - hamiltonian. Like those puzzles where you have to draw through all the dots with one line, you know? Want to try?"

"Actually, I was about to head out to get some lunch," he said hastily, before Vincent could rope him into helping with his project. "You want to join me?"

"Absolutely," Vincent enthused. Dave didn't think he'd ever see him less than engaged in everything around him, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I just have a quick phone call to make, and then I'm free."

Vincent arranged babysitting duties for the rainbow structure while Dave called Puck. "I'm at the hotel," he said. "My flight was fine. I'm just hanging out with a friend from undergrad." He felt a little disingenuous, talking about Vincent like they were best pals or something, when they hadn't actually spoken in over two years.

"Cool," Puck said. "Everything's quiet here. Me and Pascal, we're playing some cards and smoking cigars. No cause for alarm."

That was enough to melt Dave into a useless puddle, and he didn't have any control over the stupid grin plastered across his face when Vincent approached him curiously.

"I should go, though," Puck was saying. "The band is rehearsing this evening, and Finn's car isn't working again, so I said I'd give him a ride. Have fun tonight?"

"Should be quiet. I'll call you before bed."

"Bed's gonna be way the fuck too big without you," Puck said, with a sigh. "Love you."

"Uh." Dave gave Vincent a quick look before turning to the side and whispering, "Love you, too." It wasn't subtle enough to pass Vincent's notice, however, and his smile widened.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

Reflecting on it later, Dave thought maybe it was Vincent's unfailing friendliness that decided him, but in the moment, he didn't hesitate. "Boyfriend, actually."

Vincent's eyes widened a fraction, and his lips made a series of shapes that could have been words, if sounds had come out of them. "Huh," he said. "Was - that something I knew, once? Or is that new information? Sometimes I forget who knows what."

"No, I wasn't talking about it much, back then," Dave said. Then he paused. "Wait..."

"Ah. Yes." He smiled. "I was still pretty unaware, myself."

"You?" Dave was speechless.

"What, you've cornered the market on closeted mathematicians?" Vincent made a dismissive motion. "I guess I wasn't thinking much about sex at all until about my junior year of college, anyway. Late bloomer, you know." He gestured at his slim build. "Not that girls were knocking down my door, but - once a couple of them tried hitting on me, I realized I was a lot more interested in the guys on my soccer team."

Dave privately thought that he might have done some door-knocking himself, if he'd been a little more aware of what was going on with Vincent in college, but he sure as hell wasn't going to say anything about it now.

"You still play soccer?" Vincent had been as enthusiastic about that sport as he was about everything. Dave thought he remembered being recruited to to play in some kind of tournament once, Vincent insisting that it absolutely didn't matter that he didn't know the rules.

"Oh, yes. Just for fun, but...that reminds me." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I know this is rude, but I have to check how the match is going."

"The match?"

"It's El Clásico, man. Barcelona vs Real Madrid?" Dave didn't bother answering, he didn't know much about soccer and Vincent was too absorbed in his phone to notice him anyway. "YES!" He looked back up, apparently not embarrassed by the loud yell he'd just let out in a fairly quiet room, and grinned at Dave. "Barça, Barça, Baaarça!" He pumped his fist, looking around him like he expected the rest of the crowd to join in the chant, but unsurprisingly at least to Dave, they didn't seem to care.

They agreed on lunch at Mendocino Farms, a few blocks away on 3rd and Grand. "I hear the kurobuta pork is to die for," Vincent expostulated, and Dave couldn't even roll his eyes, he was that earnest. "If you eat meat, that is."

"Yes. I eat meat." Dave felt comfortable enough to relate the story of Roger the cyclist, who expected him to be vegan, and they were laughing by the time Vincent asked, "So, this guy...?"

"Puck." Dave smiled. "We've only been together for...god, less than two months, it feels like more. But we've known each other since we were kids, so...I know he's a good guy."

"Yeah, and I definitely heard you say something that started with the letter L, there, over the phone." He nudged Dave in the ribs. "That sounds pretty serious to me."

"I... yeah, maybe?" Dave thought of Puck at home, in his house, taking care of his cat. He hadn't thought twice about giving him a key. "It's kind of hard, being away. I mean... it's been, what, six hours now? I'm not freaking out yet."

"I miss being in love like that." Vincent smiled a little less enthusiastically than usual. "It's great, isn't it? It's been a while since I met someone who was worth that kind of grin."

"What do they say... like, it happens, when it's time? I don't know. I was never much into all this romantic bullshit. Except apparently, I am." Dave shook his head as Vincent laughed. His head felt crowded, suddenly, with all the things about Puck that were part of his life: the math class, Lima and Columbus, the dojo, Indian food, Beth... "He's even got a kid. She's almost eight."

Vincent's eyes widened. "A kid? How old did you say this guy was? And you're not freaking out about that?"

"Well, he had her when we were in high school. I guess they always just came as a set." It was a good question, actually. Shouldn't he be freaking out about dating a guy with a daughter? He wasn't ready to be a father, not even a pretend one.

"Dave... hey, Dave. Calm down." He felt Vincent's hand on his shoulder, and he sat back in his chair, trying to breathe normally. "Jesus, did I break you there or something?"

"No, I'm fine." He shook his head. He thought about Puck and Beth and riding bikes in the park. That had been good. That was real, not whatever he imagined in his head miles and miles away. "She's a great kid. It works." He took a drink from his glass of water, and put it down again. Vincent was still looking concerned. Dave smiled. "Really, it's okay. I guess...a lot of strange things happened, and we just got used to it."

"That's life, huh?" Vincent nodded.

And maybe it was? Maybe his life was just another story, like so many others, and whatever he chose to do would just be...another strange thing on the list for people to get used to. Maybe it didn't have to be such a big deal. Two months ago, that idea would have seemed irresponsible, careless, even impossible. But here he was, doing everything that wasn't expected. He was in love with a guy who'd turned his life upside down, he was telling someone he really barely knew all about it, coming out to him without a second thought, and the world hadn't ended. People were chatting and eating their sandwiches and absolutely nothing terrible had happened. Maybe nothing was going to happen. Life -  _that's life_ \- might just go on. Dave laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess it is."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vincent has already captured our hearts, but Pascal is still the best OC ever. Enjoy.  
> -amy and penthea

 

Puck felt a little bad for Pascal. Not only did he have to handle Dave being gone, which Puck guessed didn't happen very often, if ever, but now he was trapped in a house with Puck and a laptop and a zillion questions Puck didn't know how to answer. And Puck wasn't being particularly quiet about it.

"God damn fucking English language," he snapped, kicking the chair, after yet another unsuccessful Google search. Pascal hastily relocated from under the table to the kitchen counter, and Puck didn't feel like he had the wherewithal to chase him off. He sighed.

"It doesn't help that most of what's on the web was written by idiots." Puck's conversational tone didn't seem to be fooling Pascal. He seemed to know Puck would start throwing things again as soon as he gave it another try. Because he wasn't giving up. Whatever Dave was studying, Puck was going to figure it out.

"Because, okay, so he didn't tell me about the conference." He tipped back on two legs of his chair, balancing precariously. "So what? He was probably busy. He's got a million important things to work on. Things that have nothing to do with me."

Even saying that kind of hurt -- which made him feel like a total idiot, because there wasn't actually much left in Dave's life that  _didn't_  have to do with him anymore. He was here in his house most days, and most nights, too.  After that unfortunate week, Dave hadn't asked Puck to leave him alone at all. He seemed okay with Puck being there overnight, heading to class separately and meeting back at the house at the end of the day.

"So I don't know what I'm complaining about." Puck took a tentative hand off the table and held his balance on the back chair legs for a good four seconds before having to put it back. "Life's pretty fucking awesome as it is, you know?" He let the chair land on the floor with a  _thump._  "No reason I should be looking for something more."

Pascal gathered his weight under him, then leaped across the chasm between the counter and the table with apparent ease. He meowed. Puck held out one finger, scratched under his pointy little chin and sighed again. There were plenty of things in Puck's life that Dave wasn't involved in. His band - Dave hadn't ever been to see them play, though he wasn't certain he even wanted to - and his weekly schedule of martial arts classes were two notable examples. Dave hadn't even met his Ma yet, although he wasn't particularly in a hurry for that to happen.

He knew why things were the way they were. He just didn't know what to do about them. Because there was Dave, in Columbus, and there was Puck, in Lima. And his kid, also in Lima. If Shelby wasn't moving anytime soon, neither was Puck.

Pascal put a hesitant paw onto his leg, and stepped off the table into his lap when Puck didn't object or swear at him. "I don't mind living in Lima so much," he explained to Pascal, who began to knead bread dough on his thigh and purr loudly. "It's just another town, you know? It's not even the commute, though two hours each way is kind of a lot."

It was that Dave had his life, and Puck had his. And, sure, they overlapped, a lot. It was enough, for a two-month-old relationship. Wasn't it?

"Things are a hell of a lot easier when I'm not missing him so much," he said, with one last scritch on Pascal's striped head. Pascal chirruped and turned over in his lap, his belly to the air, asking for more, but Puck set him gently on the floor and stood, heading for the stairs.

He didn't have a lot of faith in books to teach him much, but he figured Dave might have some upstairs in the bookcase under the window, where Puck had seen some weighty tomes. Whatever was in those books, they weren't the kind of things people would read for fun.  He knew most people actually did that occasionally.

He dug in with his fingers and slid out two of the volumes that included the word "algebra" in the title, because that, at least, he could read. Neither index had any kind of word starting with the letter L that looked anything like "lie algebra," however, and after a little useless page-flipping, he gave up.

There was a book on Dave's desk that looked promising. It was full of post-it notes and slips of paper with equations scribbled on them. When he opened the front cover, he spotted a note with his name on it.  _Book for Puck?_  it read.  _Adv. topics, RL not too chall.?_  He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it gave him a peculiar warm feeling inside his stomach to read his own name in Dave's scrawl.

That same book yielded two other treasures. One of them was a note in the shape of a dog's head, written in someone else's handwriting. It read  _Elliott Baker,_  and a phone number. Puck recognized Elliott's name; he was a friend of Dave's in the math department, some kind of doctoral student or a junior professor or something. He'd been the one in front of the class that Thursday morning, keeping their attention well enough, though he wasn't any kind of hot that Puck could identify. He grinned at himself.  _Math class isn't supposed to be about the eye candy, dude._

The second was a photograph, an old one printed on photo paper, the kind that included the date in computer script on the back.  _16 Feb 07._ The photo wasn't one Puck had seen before, but it didn't matter, because as soon as he saw it, he remembered exactly when it had been taken and what they'd been doing that day.

It was the week before they'd been slated to drive down to junior playoffs. Practice was over, but they were still in their jerseys and pads, him and Dave and Scott Cooper. Dave's helmet was missing, but Puck held his under his arm. There was no way any of them would have known this would be the last week they'd ever see Puck's hair grown out like that, curly and thick, because in a week's time it would be shaved off by a surgeon who would put forty-seven stitches in his scalp.

Puck's other arm was slung around Dave's shoulder. They were wedged tight together, no closer than any two boys on a middle school hockey team would ordinarily be. Certainly not in any inappropriate way, nothing that would have drawn attention.  _Nothing like what the two of us did in Finn Hudson's guest room the following year,_  he thought. He touched the picture with one gentle finger before sticking it back into the book, just where Dave had left it, and closed it again.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Elliott's number. If the books didn't have any answers, maybe he would.

* * *

Dave looked over everything one last time. There was nothing more left to do, not really, the work was done, all he had to do was talk about it. He should just call Puck, and then go actually have some fun instead of just sitting around here staring at this damn presentation. He sighed and closed his laptop, picking up the phone instead.

Puck seemed happy to hear from him, but Dave still felt like something wasn't quite right. Maybe it was just that not having him right there every day meant having to explain things, or something.

"So... how was class?" he asked, grasping for a topic. "You didn't make life too hard for Elliott?"

"No, he was great. I had a couple of question about groups and rings and stuff, after class? And I called him, and he sat down with me and explained all of it. But...I mean, there's still plenty of things I don't understand left for you."

Dave laughed. "You've moved on to abstract algebra now? Wow. A few more months, and you'll have to teach me."

He could almost hear Puck's shrug over the phone. "I just wanted to know what you were doing. But I didn't even know how to spell Lie algebra, so I was kind of stuck for a while."

"But you figured it out?"

"Well, kind of. I mostly just read about groups, really. And symmetry, and stuff? I'm not sure if I get it, but it's really cool."

Dave smiled. He never got tired of hearing Puck get excited about math. "Yeah. It is."

"So...when you get home, you need to explain to me about those bracket things. I tried to read about it, but it's just too many words. I went back to the wallpaper patterns."

"Hey, the wallpaper patterns are important." And impressive. If Puck had been able to grasp those concepts on his own, without any real background...most people didn't have that kind of intuition. "The brackets are kind of...oh, did Elliott try to explain to you about commutators? He can't do that without making it about quantum mechanics."

Puck laughed. "Yeah, he tried, but I had to go. He talked about physics a lot, actually. I just wanted to know about your paper, and he makes it all about some German woman from a hundred years ago."

It was almost like being back home, talking about their homework and reading about famous mathematicians, and Dave suddenly realized how much he missed Puck already. He'd known, in his head, that his boyfriend was far away and it kind of sucked, but he hadn't really felt it. Which was good, because if he was going to have to walk around like this all the time...he didn't know if he could do it. He swallowed.

"It's good to hear you guys got along. And I'll tell you all about the brackets when I get home, okay?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Dave thought Puck sounded a little distant, but, then, so did he, probably.

"Yeah. So I think...I should probably go. We're going out for dinner soon."

"Hey, uh..." Puck cleared his throat. "Pascal really misses you."

Dave smiled. It was hard to stay disconnected when Puck could melt him like that with just a few words. "I miss you too. I mean...both of you. Tell him I love him, and there will be tuna for him when I get back, okay? And...not tuna for you, I guess, but I could scratch your ears too, if you want."

"Yeah, I can think of a couple places you could scratch for me."

"Uh. Okay."

He could hear Puck's cocky grin melting away into anxiety. "I'm overstepping again, aren't I?"

"No. God. I just...what do you expect me to say to that? Three more days, and I'll scratch whatever you want? Not that I won't. But...you know." And did he really, seriously just say that?

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. Hard to say with words what I'd be doing to you if you were here. But... okay, I can wait. Three days, right?" He sighed. "All right. Say hi to Kurt for me. And, I promise, no ear-scratching till you get back."

Dave smiled. For whatever strange reason, Puck didn't seem to mind even the stupidest things he said. "Okay, I will. Three days. And...I love you."

* * *

Dave was just climbing into the taxi when he heard his name being called across the courtyard. When he looked, he saw Vincent, making a mad dash for the curb, and he touched the driver on the shoulder. "Hang on a second."  _At least he wasn't carrying his paper graph model._

"Hey!" His smile was broad enough to split his face in two, and Dave had to smile back. "You heading out for dinner?"

"Yeah, I'm, uh... yeah. Sunset Boulevard." Kurt was meeting him at Rambutan. He'd said it was an unassuming sort of restaurant, but this was Kurt, and Dave knew he'd be dressed up, so he'd worn his jacket without a tie. Vincent, on the other hand, had on some kind of cream-colored knit jersey over flared trousers. It might have been Middle Eastern, or maybe vintage 70s kitsch, it was impossible for Dave to tell. Whatever it was, he looked perfectly cool and Californian.

"Can I tag along on your cab? I thought I'd head to Erewhon and pick up some groceries." Vincent didn't even wait for Dave to say yes, but somehow Dave couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. He slid onto the seat and gave the cabbie a friendly little wave. "Where are you eating?"

"Rambutan. My friend Kurt says -"

"Oh, you have to try the soju cocktails. Assuming you drink, which I seem to recall you do, huh?" Vincent's grin wasn't any kind of mean, but Dave wondered exactly which incident Vincent was recalling from their undergraduate years. There  _had_  been an awful lot of drinking.

"Why don't you come along?" Dave found himself saying. Vincent's smile reached epic proportions.

"Yeah? That'd be awesome. I didn't really want to cook tonight anyway."

The traffic was ridiculous, and Dave didn't think too hard about the impossibility of his hand, holding onto the loop above his head, actually preventing him from being damaged in the case of a crash. Vincent didn't stop talking once the whole way from the Omni to Rambutan, and Dave had to admit everything he said was, if not pertinent, at least  _interesting._  Anyone else jabbering on like that would be getting on Dave's nerves, but somehow Vincent got him to listen, and even ask a few questions before the taxi reached its destination. He paid for his half of the cab, too, which Dave somehow thought he might try to avoid doing, but Vincent had cash in his pocket, even small bills to break a twenty.

The restaurant was in a little strip mall, with an unassuming decor. Dave immediately felt overdressed - until he saw Kurt, standing by the front counter, checking his email on his phone.

"Uh," said Vincent, in an hushed voice. "Who's  _that?"_

Then Kurt looked up and took off his sunglasses, and smiled inquisitively. "David," he said slowly, insinuating everything in that one word, and tilted his head at Vincent. "Won't you introduce me to your... friend?"

"Friend, Kurt," Dave agreed. "Vincent Cavanaugh went to undergrad with me; we were in all the same classes for three years. He's studying at UCLA. Vincent, this is my friend Kurt Hummel. We went to high school together."

"Hey," Vincent said, with his customary enthusiasm, shaking Kurt's hand firmly. "I hope you don't mind me tagging along for dinner. Dave was good enough to invite me, but really, I invited myself. I approve of your restaurant choice, by the way. You're a local, huh?"

"I'm actually not sure if I qualify yet," Kurt said, with a thoughtful finger on his lips. "I've been here for six years, though, so I'm well on my way. And, really, what's not to like about Thai?"

Dave hadn't seen Kurt in over a year, and he was more tanned and his hair lighter than he remembered it being. He wasn't dressed any differently than he'd ever been in high school, but his clothes fit just fine into the broad box of California casual - if you could count an outfit including designer shoes and a five hundred dollar blazer as casual. He was taller and slimmer than ever, and Dave tried hard not to feel like the proverbial bull in Kurt Hummel's china shop.

Kurt gave him a quick hug before sitting at the table. "Things with Puck are still...?" he said, raising his eyebrows, and Dave nodded.

"They're good. Better. I mean, better and better?" He paused, feeling like an idiot, but Vincent wasn't really paying attention. "Hey, I didn't really mean to bring Vincent, but he's a good guy, and..."

"No, it's fine. I know just the kind of pushover you are, David." Kurt's smile seemed relaxed and genuine enough.

Dave dropped his voice, turning away so Vincent wouldn't be able to see. "I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay. If we were okay."

Kurt's eyes were vague, though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the restaurant. "Of course. Would I have invited you out for dinner if we weren't?" He waved a hand at the table. "Ancient history, David. Let's eat something. I've been looking at scripts all day and my brain is completely numb. I need some seriously hot tom kha soup and panang curry."

It was obvious to Dave that he wasn't telling the truth, or at least the whole truth, but he let it go. There was no way they could really have that discussion here now, anyway. He didn't know why he'd even asked. "Okay, good. Anything else you recommend?"

Vincent nudged Dave as he sat down beside him at the table. "I ordered us some soju cocktails. Figured if your friend didn't drink, they wouldn't go to waste." He turned his blistering grin on Kurt, who looked a little startled, but smiled back. "Do you want one, uh...?"

"Kurt," said Kurt. "I don't... okay, yeah, what the hell. It's a Friday."

Kurt ordered a Thai iced tea and some satay chicken, and when it arrived he handed it down the table to Vincent right away, which kind of surprised Dave. Kurt wasn't one to eat food that had been touched by just anyone. Vincent took a skewer from the platter and scraped a little peanut sauce onto his dish.

"Are you a math teacher, then, too?" Kurt asked, neatly cutting his satay.

Vincent grinned. "Well. I'm a student, and I have my own research, but I do teach a class, too. And work with some undergrads, helping them with their research, which is kind of like teaching. So yes, I guess I'm a math teacher. And you...Kurt? What do you do with your time?" Dave was relieved. He didn't remember the old Vincent being very good at adjusting the level of technical detail to his audience, but apparently he'd learned.

"I spent most of my day filling the paper shredder with useless drivel that some people seem to think is good enough to be produced and shown on film." Kurt waved his fork in the air, in a gesture that might have been embarrassing from anyone else, but fit Kurt just right. "Occasionally I eat some lunch. Or even take a walk."

"Kurt," Dave protested. He faced Vincent. "You see that movie,  _Dead of Night?"_

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. "David..."

"No, you had your chance, and you blew it on being dramatic. You saw it?"

"Sure," Vincent agreed. "It was excellent."

"Right. He helped write that."

"You -?" Vincent's eyes opened to a comical degree. "Really?"

"David's exaggerating. I may have written a few key scenes. It wasn't that good, anyway." Kurt was definitely blushing behind his Thai iced tea. Dave pushed his advantage.

"Yeah, it only won a freaking Academy Award. And that thing you're working on now - "

"That I'm not supposed to talk about," Kurt murmured. "Yeah, that. I'm sorry, Vincent, David's a little overenthusiastic about my career, such as it is."

But Vincent was shaking a finger at Kurt. "No, wait! You're...Kurt Hummel. Of course. Wow, I can't believe I'm meeting the guy who made  _Catalunya Nord._  Seriously? That was amazing.  Totally inspired.  I actually went there, I mean, to Barcelona, and the bonfires, it was even more...wow."

Dave didn't think he'd ever seen Vincent run out of words before. It was fascinating, and a little scary. Luckily it didn't last long.

"And the colors. You've got to tell me. It's the jersey, right? My friends who care more about art film than sports wouldn't believe me, but those blues and reds -- it's not a coincidence, is it?"

Kurt smiled and raised his eyebrow, the way he did when Dave had pleasantly surprised him in some way. "I see. An FC Barcelona fan, are you? And, no, it's not a coincidence. I was convinced by a...friend; he had a small part in the film, actually."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Jordi was his boyfriend, he just wouldn't admit it. I should know, I was the one who listened to the middle of the night phone calls. At least it wasn't the middle of the night for me, thank god for the time difference."

Vincent ignored him. "I  _knew_  it. It was brilliant." He thought for a moment. "Oh. The guy on the other mountaintop? That was your boyfriend?"

Kurt shrugged. "I guess. He looked good as a symbol of...whatever he was a symbol of. Men without shirts. I was young."

Vincent and Kurt liked their food spicier than Dave could tolerate it, so they ended up sharing two dishes, but eating didn't stop the words from flying back and forth across the table. It wasn't until Kurt excused himself to go to the restroom that Vincent stopped talking altogether.

"So... " Dave eyed him cautiously. "How's that cocktail?"

Vincent blinked at him. "Pretty incredible," he admitted. "And a lot... stronger than I expected."

"You don't have to drink it all," Dave offered, but Vincent shook his head vehemently.

"I might never drink anything else, ever again." He poked at his panang. "Do you think he'd be totally offended if I asked for his phone number?"

"I think he'd be offended if you didn't," said Dave.

"Really? But he's..." Vincent waved his hand in the air. "He's a super hot genius."

Dave laughed. "I'm pretty sure he likes you anyway."

The discussion was cut short by Kurt returning to their table. "I hope Dave didn't tell you too many embarrassing stories while I was away," he said, smiling at Vincent.

"Not a single one," he answered, grinning back. "And I'm sure he has just as many about me, anyway."

"Oh, really." Kurt looked at Dave. "David? Is that true?"

It probably was. Although most of the best stories about Kurt were primarily embarrassing to _Dave._  And Vincent had done a lot of interesting things in college. Dave searched his brain for something that was safe to tell and not too boring. "You mean like how in our first class together, the professor called you Conrad for two weeks before you managed to make him believe your name was really Vincent?" He looked at Kurt. "And then everybody else called him Not-Conrad for the rest of the semester, so he just started answering to that. I don't even think it bothered him."

Vincent grinned. "Why would I care? It's a perfectly nice name."

They stayed longer than Dave had anticipated, but there wasn't really anything planned for the evening session, other than the keynote speeches.  Eventually he got antsy, and they all stood up to leave. "David just wants to give someone a call," Kurt teased. He shook Vincent's hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Not-Conrad."

Vincent's freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his blush. "Uh, yeah, it was... delicious. I mean the food was. And the company, um... I mean..."

"Yes, the company." Dave almost laughed when Kurt actually  _batted his eyelashes._  "And the cocktails. Inspired, really. I'll have to try them again sometime."

Kurt was out the door and on the LA Metro before Vincent seized Dave's shoulder and moaned. "Shit - I didn't ask for his number! You have to give it to me. No - wait. You can't; he'll know I asked you for it." He slumped against the wall. "God. I'm pathetic."

"I can call him and you can ask him yourself," Dave offered, but even this seemed too much for poor Vincent. In the end, Dave persuaded him to agree to take Kurt's email address, with the understanding that Vincent could have found it himself with a little creative searching. "Don't tell me you think he doesn't like you. He was talking to you the whole night."

Vincent shrugged. "Everybody talks to me." He ran a hand over his face. "You really went to high school with him? Was he... did he look like  _that?_  Back then? Tell me he was one of those kids who started out funny-looking and got beautiful, please."

"Why does that even matter?" Vincent wasn't making much sense, but then, who would. "Yeah, he looked like that, sorry. At least for the last few years."

"And you didn't go out with him? You must have been really closeted. I think I would have self-combusted if I'd had to sit through algebra class with a face like  _that_  looking at me." Vincent shook his head.

"Oh. No, I didn't date him. He would never...I really was that closeted, and he had a boyfriend. And yeah, I actually did kind of go crazy over him, but that was a long time ago." He shrugged. "He forgave me. We've been friends since then, but nothing more than that."

They shuffled into the back seat of the taxi. "So you're really going to give me his email address?"

Dave's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. Then he laughed. "I think I can safely jump straight to the phone number. He just asked me for yours."

Vincent managed to wait until after they'd returned to the hotel to actually call Kurt, but the dazed expression on his face told Dave he wouldn't be good for intelligent conversation until he did. "I, uh, have my own phone call to make," Dave said, as they went their own ways at the elevator. "But afterwards, come find me in the bar, okay? We'll drink something that doesn't taste like mangoes gone wrong."

When Dave called him, however, Puck wasn't answering, and even after he did the hang-up-call-back-right-away thing, he still didn't pick up his phone. "I introduced Kurt to my friend Vincent tonight," he said into his voice mail, "and they really hit it off. You should have seen them. He lives in LA, too. It was pretty great. I think they have a chance. So... call me later, I'll be up for a while. Hope you're having a good time, whatever you're doing."

Dave tried not to think too hard about what Puck might be doing. Chances were, he was at Finn's for band rehearsal, or a late karate class. Or maybe he'd actually gone out for a movie. It could be anything.

Vincent showed up after two and a half drinks, and Dave managed to tell him every one of the possible things Puck probably wasn't doing before he interrupted and said, "Dude. He has a life without you, too, right? I mean, that's healthy."

"Right," Dave said unhappily. "Yeah. Healthy. Did I tell you he has a kid?" And he was off and running again, for another twenty minutes and another drink and a half. Vincent was a very good listener, and he got caught up on drinks in a hurry.

He was also very  _friendly_ , which might have bothered Dave back in Columbus, but something about being in California made it seem appropriate, somehow. "You're really cute, Dave," Vincent informed him, with a hand on his arm, "but your friend Kurt, holy shit. No offense."

"None taken," Dave assured him, feeling magnanimous, and not quite drunk enough to say Not-Conrad was pretty good looking himself. "But... here. Seriously, look at this." With a little effort, he managed to find a recent picture of Puck, playing field hockey with Beth, on his phone. He passed it over to Vincent, who took a moment to focus on it. "Tell me he is not the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen."

"Hmmmm," Vincent said, frowning, "I don't know, Dave... he's pretty young. And blonde." He ducked away from Dave's fist on his shoulder, laughing. "Okay - yes! He's Adonis. You're absolutely right. Maybe not my type, but I wouldn't throw him out of bed."

Dave thought about his empty hotel bed, waiting for him, and sighed, pushing his empty glass across the bar, and shaking his head when the bartender offered him yet another. "Yeah. After all these years sleeping alone, you'd think I'd be used to it, but it's really hard to be away from him for even five days. Jesus. Five fucking days. What's the matter with me?"

"Love," Vincent said, looking deeply into his eyes from an uncomfortably short distance. "That's what it's like. It sucks, but it's wonderful." He laughed.

Dave groaned. "Yeah. Just...you saw him, right? And then he calls me and starts talking about group theory. That guy, and he understands symmetry groups, it's so damn hot I can't think. Did you know that's the hottest thing ever? Because I didn't. And he loves my cat." He rested his arms on the bar and hid his face in his hands.

Vincent put an arm around him and leaned his head on Dave's shoulder. "He's pretty lucky to have somebody who loves him the way you do. Obviously."

Dave made sure to deposit Vincent at his room before he headed to his own. He wouldn't have forgiven himself if he'd found Vincent sleeping off his hangover in the lobby the next morning or something. Before he even made it out of the elevator, his phone was in his hand, dialing Puck's number. It didn't occur to him that this might be a bad idea, or that it was three in the morning in Lima. All he could think about was the empty space in his bed, and the matching one in Puck's, and how that just  _sucked._

"Hey... Dave?" Puck sounded sleepy. Of course he'd been asleep. Dave stifled a laugh. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. No. It's great, but you're not in my bed. It's all empty. You know?" He paused. He had no idea what he was saying. He didn't really care.

"Yeah, man, I know," Puck said. Dave could hear his smile. "Except I've actually got this other guy in my bed. He's pretty warm, too. Hairy." Puck's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "He's on your pillow."

"Puck. You're just trying to make me jealous." He was pretty sure. Mostly.

"Oh, you've got nothing to be jealous about. He misses you too, remember?"

Dave laughed. "Oh god, I'm so drunk. I thought you - no. I don't know. I really miss you."

"I miss you, too. Pretty much all the time. It's really quiet here without you, and you don't even say much when you're here." Puck sighed. "I was at my house tonight. My Ma had some choice words about me not spending enough time here in town... where my responsibilities are. Seriously, like she has any right to talk about responsibilities. So... yeah, sorry I didn't call you back, but she would have thrown a fit. By the time I got back here, I figured you were off having a good time."

"No, I'm sorry. It's okay. You don't have to always call me right away. I should trust you, you know? And I was stupid, and nothing made any sense. But I love you, even if I make no sense. I know that." Dave took a breath. He knew, somewhere far away in the rational part of his brain, that it was the middle of the night, he should probably just shut up. "And, yeah. It's okay. And I can tell you everything. Later. The brackets and the mangoes and...everything."

"Mangoes." Puck sounded dubious.

"Yeah. There were drinks. Really terrible drinks, but Kurt didn't think so, he liked them. And my friend Vincent, the one that I told all about you, he liked them too. And Kurt. He really liked Kurt, they were all sweet, like the drinks. And then we went back to the hotel because he promised me we could have something that wasn't mangoes, and there was Jack Daniels. And maybe vodka martinis. And I think he got really sick of hearing about how hot you are. Even if it's true."

"Uh... wow." Dave's judgment wasn't currently the best, but it seemed that he'd interfered with Puck's speech. Maybe all his words had gotten in the way of Puck's, somewhere between Los Angeles and Columbus. After a lengthy pause, Dave heard a noise like a sniff. "That sounds like a good night, then. And... Kurt. I'm glad to hear about that. You have no idea how glad." Another pause, and then Puck added, in an embarrassed undertone, "You're pretty hot yourself."

Dave thought he might have taken a long time to respond to that, but he wasn't sure. He got a little lost, trying to think. "You think so? That's so strange."

"Strange, huh? Don't know what world you live in, Dave, but I think most people would agree with me. Everyone I've asked, anyway." Puck laughed. "Kurt seems to."

"Yeah." Dave looked at the ceiling. "Yeah, I guess. But now he'll fall in love with Vincent. And it will all be okay, because they're both amazing. I love them, you know? But not like you. You know that, right? You're my boyfriend. And I love you."

"Yeah, man, I love you, too. And I think I'm going to have to call you tomorrow and see how you're actually doing, because right now, you don't sound a whole lot like my boyfriend." Again, Dave couldn't tell for sure, but he didn't sound upset. "But thanks for calling, anyway."

"Okay. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"No, no," Puck assured him. "If you were here, I'd want you to wake me up to tell me all this stuff, and now it's like... almost like you're here, kind of. Maybe not so far away."

Dave smiled. "Yeah. Okay. But you should sleep. Me too, actually. So goodnight?"

"Yeah," said Puck, hushed and a little shaky. Or maybe that was the last shot talking. "Goodnight."

He managed to get his clothes off and find his way under the covers before he decided it was safe to pass out, letting disconnected thoughts about mangoes and Puck and Barcelona float around in his head until the nice, soft dark took over.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mild hurt/comfort and... I'm not even sure, certainly Dave and Puck wouldn't have a word for it, but it feels a little edgy to them. But really, if you're bothered by anything that smacks of D/s, you shouldn't be reading my fic. Enjoy! 
> 
> -Penthea and amy

 

Dave seldom got hangovers, but the next morning he did feel a little blurred, like someone had dragged a wet finger across him and his margins were a little uncertain. He ate breakfast without any trouble, though he didn't see Vincent anywhere.

While he was finishing his coffee and working on the Times Saturday crossword, his phone rang.

"I like this business of being in the same time zone," Kurt said, by way of greeting. "It means I can harass you first thing in the morning. Guess what I received this morning."

"Uh..." Nothing Dave could think of would be particularly good, unless... "You didn't get flowers, did you?"

Kurt sounded a little condescending. "No, David, I didn't get flowers. Although it wouldn't be the end of the world if I did. No, I am the proud owner of one drunk email written by - wait for it - our mutual friend Vincent."

Dave leaned his forehead into his hand. "He didn't."

"Oh, yes, he certainly did. And it's  _priceless."_  Kurt was far too gleeful.  _This does not bode well._  "Here, let me share some choice tidbits with you."

"Uh, Kurt, I don't think Vincent would -" He paused. "Okay, yeah, he totally would. Go ahead."

" _Dear Kurt,"_  he said, in an affected voice that sounded absolutely nothing like Vincent, " _it's been four hours and six drinks since I saw you last. I hope this email isn't too forward, but I type better drunk than I speak, if you can believe that. Dave said I could find your email address if I searched hard enough. You've been in the news a lot, Kurt Hummel. I think I read three articles and several reviews of your student project - all good, believe me - before I found anything personal."_

"That's not bad," Dave said, grinning. "I think he did better than I did with Puck last night. I get all stupid and single-minded when I'm drunk."

"Just keep listening, David.  _I'm thrilled to have met you, Kurt, and I hope you know I don't do things like this very often, but you're just amazing."_  Kurt couldn't quite get the last words out without snorting. "He waxes eloquent about my fashion sense and exquisite style, but you probably don't need to hear that."

"Yeah, probably not." A movement caught Dave's eye, and he looked up in time to see Vincent waving at him from the front of the restaurant. He really wasn't sure how to say  _I can't talk now, my best friend's reading me your drunk email_  in sign language, but he tried his hardest. Vincent came over anyway. He gave Dave a quizzical look as he slid into the chair across from him. Dave tried to stay cool and not hide his face in his hand.

"Oh, listen to this.  _I don't think I've ever met another man who clearly cared about Barcelona as much as I do. It's where my heart is, and I can tell yours lives there too. Maybe they can meet and have coffee there sometime?"_  He was making it very difficult for Dave to sit there with a straight face, the way Kurt was giggling so hard, not to mention Vincent's innocent expression as he buttered a muffin.

"Should I go?" Vincent said, clearly not planning to leave anytime soon.

Dave shook his head, but when he looked at Vincent to try to tell him it was fine, he could stay, it was impossible to keep himself from laughing. After a few seconds, though, he was able to stop enough to tell Kurt, "Okay, wait, I can't - Vincent's here."

"David!" Kurt sounded completely horrified.

"Well, I didn't conjure him out of nothing. He just showed up." Dave schooled his face. "I'll call you back later."

The expression on Vincent's face had gone from curious to alarmed to mortified in the space of five seconds. "Oh god," he groaned. "That was - "

"That was Kurt," Dave said, grinning. He kept his eyes on the table, though, because as funny as it was, he did feel terrible for Vincent. "Sounds like you found his email address."

"It took me an hour," he admitted. "But I was having trouble reading the screen by that point.  _God,_  Dave, maybe you should kill me now."

"Nah," Dave said. "But maybe  _you_ should send him flowers."

Vincent buried his face in his hands and didn't answer.

"Look, he was amused, but he doesn't hate you. He's hard to offend permanently, or he'd never be friends with me, right?"

That made Vincent laugh, at least. "Okay, yeah. You know him; I don't. Believe me, I never would have said that stuff if I'd been sober."

Dave stared at him. "Are you kidding? Of course you would have. And you know what? I'm pretty sure Kurt knows it too, and he would be fine with it. I mean, he'd make fun of you, but he'd secretly love it."

"Really?" He looked hopeful.

"Yeah. So don't freak out. It's going to be fine." Dave accepted the check from the waiter and signed his room number.

"Well... I'll definitely plan to stay sober around him for the immediate future. I don't want him to think I only think he's great when I'm seeing him through beer goggles. Or soju goggles." Vincent cocked his head. "Were you being serious about the flowers?"

"Worked on me," Dave shrugged. "Except I doubt Kurt would know what a Fibonacci bouquet was."

Then he had to explain it to Vincent, who oohed and aahed appropriately over the idea. "Your boyfriend sounds like he'd be totally ripe for my undergraduate research program," he said, with some degree of his usual enthusiasm.

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I agree, if I could convince him to try. He has no idea how smart about math he really is."

"Oh, that's no problem. You just have to refer him. It'd be my job to convince him." Vincent smiled. "I can be very convincing."

"I believe you." He grinned. "It would be worth a try, a guess, if I just have to fill out whatever it is you need?"

Vincent promised to email him the necessary files before he left California. "And I'll see you at your presentation this afternoon," he added, pushing out his chair and waving, his smile broad and relaxed. He acted like he'd completely forgotten about his earlier experience with Kurt. Dave wondered what it would be like to be able to let go of something so easily.

* * *

Actually giving the presentation was surprisingly easy. He'd probably over-prepared - he had plans for most of the things that could go wrong and an answer for every question he could imagine coming up, but he didn't really need any of them. Dave sighed. It was the same every time - he worried for a week, then was surprised and relieved when, as usual, nothing went wrong.

It was hard not to wonder, after that, walking around the dealers' room -  _is this my future?_  Research and presentations and conferences at strange universities, applying for jobs all over the place, because that's just how it would have to be if he wanted to be a professor. He thought he did, he liked the teaching and the research and he'd never felt especially attached to Ohio anyway. It was a place, his parents lived there, he could always come back.

But now, with Puck, maybe it was different. Just leaving Lima for Columbus would be a big step for him, with a business, which, okay, he could probably start again somewhere else, but more importantly, a family. A daughter he couldn't take with him, a mother and a sister that might be fine without him but that Puck surely wouldn't want to leave. And Dave was probably getting way ahead of himself even thinking about it, but the way he'd missed Puck now, for a few days...he couldn't do that for months, years. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. So what if their relationship would probably never last that long anyway. Was it really worth trying, if it was all going to end like that? Even if he thought it was, could he do that to Puck?

Those ideas were in the back of his head for the rest of the day, but the conference was enough of a distraction that he wasn't really thinking about it most of the time. Not until he got to the airport. Dave didn't mind airports, usually. He could be friendly and patient and sit down to read or work or something, not a problem. But today...there were ghosts of Puck everywhere, Puck leaving him, Puck being left behind or coming to meet him, even the empty space where Puck could have been missing if he wasn't coming to meet him seemed somehow different from all the other air. He knew this was ridiculous, the kind of thing Kurt would talk about late at night before deciding that he'd left the trite artsy vague things behind in school and it was better that way. But he was still thinking it, all the time, while going through the motions of check in and security and getting something to eat. As if he was just a guy going home from a successful conference to his boyfriend and his cat. Which he was, so he didn't know why he had to pretend.

Dave sighed. They were boarding his flight. He had his ID ready, a smile and a thank you, placed his carry-on sensibly in the overhead locker, while stepping aside for passengers seated behind him. Somehow it didn't make his brain shut up at all. He put down his book and watched the safety demonstration, because not a single word was making it to the point of meaning anyway. When he tried to find his spot again, he had to start from the beginning.

Just as he was about to turn off his cell phone, he received a text. It was from Kurt.  _Had dinner with V.,_ it said.  _No cocktails, but a very sweet bouquet, and an equally sweet kiss._

Dave had to smile.  _Congrats. You guys going out again?_

 _Almost certainly,_  Kurt sent.  _An unexpected connection. I feel like I should thank you._

_I'm no matchmaker. But you're welcome, I guess? You deserve to be happy, Kurt._

_Who knows? I'm trying to be open to that. He's the first guy in six years who's made me feel special, and where's he from? Ohio. Maybe I need to rethink my location._

_Maybe you just need to stick with Vincent. You like California, right?_

"Sir," said the flight attendant, "we're getting ready to take off. Would you turn that off, please?"

 _My flight's leaving,_  he added.  _I'll call you when I get home._

Kurt still hadn't responded by the time he switched off his phone, but Dave examined the vivid memory of Kurt in his head, Kurt and Vincent, in the restaurant, smiling and talking animatedly. They'd looked so damn happy. He'd meant it - Kurt did deserve that. But as much as Kurt might like California, even love his job, it hadn't been those things that had caused him to smile like that.  _He wants a boyfriend. Somebody who makes him feel special._

Dave's stomach was more uneasy than usual as they lifted off the ground, and instead of reading or doing the crossword, he just sat there, picturing his own life over the past two months. He knew when he looked at Puck across the table at dinner, when they discussed math, when he woke up and saw him sleeping on the pillow next to him, he had much the same expression as he'd seen on Kurt's face. It wasn't going away. Maybe... maybe it never would.

 _I don't want to lose this,_  he realized, feeling the panic rising in his chest, and he gripped the handrests of his seat with his hands, his knuckles turning white.

"Relax," said the woman next to him. She smiled at him kindly. "Flying is safer than driving, you know. You on your way somewhere important?"

"Yeah," Dave said, trying to let his shoulders drop. "I'm going home."

* * *

Dave did his laundry when he got back to the house. He spent a little time with Pascal, who was a little overly friendly for the first thirty minutes after he walked in the door, but otherwise unscathed from Dave's five days away. He sorted his mail. He checked his voice mail again. Still no messages.

He wasn't going to admit he didn't know what to do next, but eventually, he ran out of things to do and just had to sit down and call Puck.

"Hey, you're home already?" Puck sounded like he was eating lunch. "I thought your plane wasn't scheduled to land until three."

"Oh. No, I changed it, didn't I tell you that? I just got home."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry - I'm teaching until two." There was a pause. "I could come out after that, though, if you want."

Dave felt like yelling into the phone.  _If I want? After five days of me in California and you here?_ But of course he wasn't going to do that. He would be overreacting. Maybe it hadn't been as bad for Puck, him being away. "Yeah, that'd be fine. If  _you_  want."

"Yeah, I do." He was silent for a minute, then added, "You okay?"

The hesitant, tentative tone broke through some of Dave's stubborn self-doubt, and he sighed. "I guess? I think I need to get out of the house. You want to take a bike ride?"

Puck sounded excited by this idea. "If I had a bike."

"You can ride the fixie. I said I'd teach you, right?"

"Uh - yeah, okay, let me just - Beth, get  _off,_  what did I tell you about leaping on me when I come around corners? Yeah,  _not_  okay - sorry. Bike, definitely."

"Do I get to come?" Dave heard in the background.

"Not this time, kiddo. I'm going to Columbus." Puck said this like he might say  _I'm meeting the President._

"Awww... you're always going to Columbus. Why doesn't Dave come  _here?_ "

"I think you have a fan," Puck said to Dave, with an audible grin. Then, back to Beth: "Don't worry. He's back in Ohio, now, so I'm sure we'll find time to get together soon and ride your bike." To Dave, again, and the warmth in his voice lit some kind of fire inside Dave's middle. "I'll see you a little after four, babe."

Being alone after that didn't seem so dire, and Dave managed to fill the intervening time with lesson planning and folding laundry. Only the last fifteen minutes were spent brushing Pascal - who sounded like his little motor was going to accelerate out of his body and down the hall, it was so loud - and feeling like he didn't know what the hell he was doing.

When Puck arrived, Dave was already getting the bikes out of the garage. He rolled them over to the truck, one hand on each, careful not to let the fixie's constantly moving pedals hit his legs as he rolled it, because damn it, that hurt.

Puck opened the door and walked straight over to meet him, taking over one of the bikes without even asking. "Hey, that was quick." As usual, Dave couldn't help the stupid grin from spreading on his face. It might have been awkward talking on the phone, but once he had Puck in front of him, he mostly felt happy.

"Yeah, well, I've got it mapped out pretty well which stretches of Highway 33 have cops between here and Lima, but you probably don't want to hear about it. Helps that I dated one of the assholes that patrols near Bellefontaine." Puck's face twisted ruefully. "Actually, maybe it doesn't help, but I can guarantee he wouldn't want to risk giving me a ticket and having me out him."

Dave wasn't sure what to say to that, but he thought he might be getting used to hearing Puck's choice tidbits about his past. "We could just start from here, I guess, but I don't think you should try that one for the first time on the road. How about you take the road bike until we get to the park, and you can get used to it somewhere there's no traffic?"

Puck nodded. "Thanks for teaching me to ride the fixie, man. I've been wanting to try it."

Dave hesitated. They could just jump on their bikes and go, but he'd been away from his boyfriend for five days... it didn't seem right to treat him like just a friend coming over for a bike ride, but then he'd always been a bit careful about touching Puck in public. They were in front of his own house, though, not really visible to anyone except maybe the neighbors if they came outside right then. He carefully leaned his bike against the side of the car. Puck was still holding the fixie, so he took it and placed it next to the other. Puck just stood there and let him do it without comment, and when he turned back, he seemed perfectly happy to be taken into Dave's arms and kissed. "Hey," Dave said, pulling back just far enough to see his face clearly. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Puck said, a little breathless and flushed. Dave grinned.  _I did that._  "It's good to see you, too. Uh..." He let his hands creep around Dave's middle and down the curve of his spine, and his eyes flickered down Dave's chest as he licked his lips. "We'd... better decide if we're going to ride, or... not. Because in a few more seconds, I might not be able to be convinced to leave your house."

Dave backed away a bit, leaving one arm around Puck's waist. It was tempting to just take him inside, but he really wanted to go for that ride, and he thought Puck did, too. "I think we should go. We can always come back here when we're done, right? Come on, let's go." He moved his hand from Puck's hip to grab his bike, and without really thinking about what he was doing, gave his ass a gentle pat on the way.

Puck didn't move from where he stood for a moment, and when Dave turned back to check on him, he looked a little stunned. And hungry. Then he grinned big, like a delighted puppy, and followed Dave's lead to get on the bike.

They rode together to the park, Dave on the fixie, and he couldn't resist showing off a little bit - doing a track stand at a red light instead of just putting his foot down like a sensible person - but it was good to practice your balance, right? It definitely had nothing to do with the look Puck was giving him. When the light turned green, he stood up and accelerated away, almost certainly annoying the driver next to him by being faster than him. Of course, after a few second the car passed him, a little closer than Dave thought was necessary, and he slowed down and turned his head to grin at Puck and wait for him to catch up.

Dave found a nice paved area without too many people, and stopped. Puck followed him, and they both got off their bikes. "I think this is a good place to start," Dave said, "and then once you have the basics down we can try the bike path. Shouldn't take too long."

They switched bikes. "The only thing you need to remember is to keep moving your legs. Just don't go too fast until you know how to stop, okay?" Dave leaned on the frame of his road bike and watched as Puck swung his leg over the seat. He stumbled a little trying to get the pedals into the right position, but once he got started, he picked up speed quickly. Dave thought maybe too quickly, considering he only had a theoretical idea about how to slow down again.

"Maybe try to stop now?" Dave suggested. Puck kept his focus and didn't even really look at Dave, but he stopped, a little uncertainly. Still impressive for a first try, in Dave's opinion, and Puck's excited grin was even better.

"I should have known you'd be a natural," he told him, "Really, that looked great. I think you're ready for the trail, if you're careful."

Dave stayed right behind him, watching and letting Puck set the pace, which meant they started nice and slow, but but pretty soon Puck was speeding up and slowing down again and making little turns, playing with the bike and apparently having a great time.

Then Puck turned his head, probably to get Dave to look at him, as if he wasn't already. He could tell, for a long moment that was still much too short to do anything, that this was going to go wrong. Sure, he yelled something, he wasn't sure what, probably about not forgetting to pedal, because that was what Puck was doing.

The bike stopped, but of course Puck didn't, diving head first over the handlebars. He landed on his front in the middle of the trail, while the bike tumbled over him. Dave turned sharply to avoid him, jumped off his bike and threw it down on the grass. Puck was lying very still. He ran over, thinking,  _at least there's no blood,_  and following right behind that thought,  _don't even think that, what if you're just not seeing it yet_  and then he was there, and Puck was moving.

"Are you okay?" Of course he wasn't, but compared to what could have happened...Puck wasn't even wearing a helmet, of all the irresponsible things in the world, why had Dave even allowed that? He could have broken his neck, and it would have been Dave's fault for not thinking, for asking him to do this.

"Uh... fuck," Puck muttered, shifting on the side of the trail. "So much for being a natural." The bike was three feet away, but Dave didn't even think about it. He watched anxiously as Puck moved his limbs and sat up carefully. There was a little bit of blood trickling down the side of his face. Not much. Maybe he seemed a bit dazed, but that was normal after a crash like that, wasn't it? Didn't have to mean anything, but should he be checking for head injuries anyway? He wasn't sure he remembered how to do that right now.

Then Dave saw the abrasion on his leg. It spanned from mid-thigh to mid-calf, and had taken out a good deal of the skin on his knee with it.

He swallowed and nodded at it. "Does it hurt?"

Puck focused on his leg with difficulty. "Holy shit," he said, sounding surprised. "Well -  _now_  it does." He poked at the bloody mess with one finger, dislodging some gravel, and grimaced. "Can you help me get up? If I'm going to walk on this, I'd better do it now before it gets worse."

"All right." Dave tried to estimate the distance back to his house. "If you can't ride back, we'll find another way. But you should probably get off the trail first, okay?

He put a supporting hand under Puck's armpit and lifted him up, holding as much of Puck's weight as he would let him take. Puck put on a brave face, but he was clearly in pain.

"Goddamn fucking bike," Puck snapped, rolling his eyes. "Really, Dave, who wants to ride a -  _ow -_  bike with no brakes and one you can't -  _oww, shit! -_ coast on?" He limped to a nearby park bench and sprawled there, breathing heavily, his face pale and sweaty. "I don't know if I can walk all the way back, man."

Dave put a hand on the back of Puck's neck and sat down next to him, watching the blood trickle down his leg in rivulets and pool in the top of his sock. "You don't have to, okay? If you think you can handle a bike you can coast on, you can take that one, and if not, I'll ride back and get your truck."

Puck closed his eyes and, just for a moment, leaned against Dave's shoulder, shaking with pain and adrenaline. "Sorry about this. I'm such a freaking spaz sometimes."

"No, you're not. You think you're the only person who ever crashed like that? It happens, you just got it out of the way early." Dave put an arm around his shoulder. "Anyway, I'm the one who should be sorry, I basically put you on that thing and told you it would be fine."

He wasn't sure if this was going to get better or worse if they waited, but if it was mostly just road rash, bruises and shock, he thought he remembered feeling weaker and more sore after the adrenaline wore off. "Babe, this needs to be cleaned up. What do you want to do? Stay here and wait for me to come back and pick you up, or try the bike?"

Puck looked absolutely panicked at the mention of  _stay here and wait for me to come back._ "Uh... no, I think I can do it. I hope I don't crash your  _other_  bike."

"I'll take that chance." Dave got up and picked up the fixie, quickly checking it for damage, but it seemed fine. Then he got his road bike and held it in front of Puck. "Okay. It might hurt a little, but I'm pretty sure you'll be fine on this. Ready?"

Puck carefully swung his mangled leg over the crossbar and gingerly sat on the seat, gripping the handlebars with grim determination. "Ready."

They rode back, a lot slower and more carefully than they had on the way there, but they made it without any more trouble. When there was room, Dave stayed beside Puck, on his left, only dropping behind if there were cars behind them. On a quiet street, he put one hand on Puck's lower back to give him a bit of help. Puck looked at him like he was thinking about protesting.

"Just pretend you're a pro cyclist, they crash and get pushed to the finish all the time," Dave told him, and if Puck didn't seem convinced, he let Dave do it.

When they got back to the house, Dave led Puck inside and directly to the bathroom. Puck sat down on the toilet lid while Dave searched for first aid supplies. He came up with some gauze, neosporin and a roll of tape, and filled the sink with soapy water. "Should I do this, or would you rather do it yourself?"

Puck turned red and looked away, but he muttered, "You can. If you don't mind."

Dave smiled. "Okay. I'll try to be careful, but tell me if you need a break." He dipped some gauze in the water, and, one steadying hand on a still whole part of Puck's thigh, started from the middle and worked his way out. Puck tensed up, but didn't flinch away from him.

"Sorry." Dave hated this, it was okay on himself, but Puck...he couldn't think about it, he'd just keep his hands moving. Firm and not too slow was actually easier, as far as he remembered from his own encounters with road rash. Once a nurse had actually scrubbed the gravel out of an abrasion on his elbow with a nail brush or something like it, and he took some comfort in remembering it hadn't been half been as bad as it looked. Every time Puck winced, he had to fight not to wince, too, but he managed to stay steady.

"Okay, done with the leg." He dabbed it gently with a towel and put some ointment on a new piece of gauze. "I could try to cover this up, but it's pretty big, so I think it might be better to just do the deepest part, okay? The rest of it won't ooze and stick to anything."

Dave placed the gauze on Puck's knee and taped it in place, careful not to actually put tape on the road rash. Puck still seemed a little shaky. Dave took a deep breath; he wasn't the only one. But he could do this. "I think you'll have to strip for me," he said, with a small smile, "I'm pretty sure there's some more on that shoulder."

He helped Puck out of his T-shirt. It was kind of tight, and everything hurt when you were sore like that. Dave held the collar out and lifted it over Puck's face so it wouldn't get dragged over the abrasions th. Close, right up next to him like that, the experience of Puck was so much more intense, and Dave struggled  _not_  to make it about that, because he was just going to take care of this, and it would be done. Yes, he'd been right: there were more on his arm, though they weren't nearly so bad. Dave picked some large bits of aggregate concrete out of the contusion. "Doing all right?"

"Yeah." Puck let out a frustrated breath. "Thanks."

"You're welcome?" Dave kept cleaning little specks of dirt out of his arm. "I don't mind. I mean...I'm sorry it happened, but it did, so I want to do this."

Puck looked at him like he was insane. "Dude. I'm sure you have better things to do than pick up my messes."

Dave shook his head. "No, I don't. Babe, if anyone's going to clean you up and fix your mess, I want it to be me."

This time, Puck clearly wanted to look away, but he seemed arrested by Dave's eyes. The longer Dave waited, the more intense it felt, until they were both having trouble breathing. "God, Dave," he whispered. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?"

There were so many things Dave wanted to do with Puck looking at him like that, but he had a job to finish here. "Sit there and let me finish cleaning you up?" he suggested, and Puck relaxed a fraction. "We're almost done here." He wiped the blood from Puck's face, revealing a scratch that was much smaller than he'd feared. It was probably fine to leave it. "I think that's it."

He was only going to give Puck a hand getting up, which he probably didn't even need, but somehow it turned into Dave lifting him into his arms and then just standing there, in the middle of his little bathroom, holding him.

"You're okay," he said, more to himself than to Puck, if he was going to be honest. Puck was leaning on him, resting his head against him, breathing. Dave turned his head as much as he could without losing contact. "God, you're really okay." Puck was right there, and Dave let go with one arm only so he could put it on the back of his head and pull it closer. It almost hurt, but he didn't care, as long as Puck was fine.

But Puck didn't seem to be fine; he was grasping with his whole arm for Dave's shoulder, pulling himself in closer, folding into the space of Dave's body as though he needed a place to hide. He wasn't breathing anymore so much as he was gasping and struggling with air, like it was a foreign substance, fighting every rise and fall of his chest.

"You  _went away,"_  Puck said, his tone small and accusing. "You... you  _left."_

Dave held him as tight as he could, but there was no way it could ever be enough; something was breaking inside him and the only thing that might maybe make it better was to hold on to Puck and never let him go. "I did," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He had to breathe. Hold Puck and breathe, and make him breathe with him. "But I'm here now, okay? I came back. I'll always come back."

"You promise?" Puck demanded. He was holding onto Dave's shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. "For real?"

"Yeah." Dave actually smiled a little. It was okay, Puck was breathing and talking and the bathroom just looked like the bathroom again. "For real."

They stared at each other for a moment, and maybe both decided they'd said everything that needed to be said. Dave thought he was the first to move, but it didn't matter, all that was important was kissing Puck, hard and messy, as close as he could get, for the first time in five days.

"I love you," he managed to get out, before Puck was attacking him again. Then, a while later, as Puck let his mouth go to pull Dave's shirt over his head, he continued. "God, I love you, but we're not doing this in the bathroom. Come on."

He led Puck down the hall to his bedroom. Puck kept clinging to him the whole way, so he ended up walking backwards to the edge of the bed and sitting down there, pulling Dave with him. If he hadn't been injured, Dave might have thrown himself on top of him - Puck wasn't usually fragile, but now he suddenly saw him that way, beautiful, whole, alive, but so human and small and terribly easy to damage. Easy to lose. Dave pulled his head towards his chest and held it there for a second, kissed the top of it, until the feeling passed, or maybe was just surpassed by wanting to get his boyfriend naked.

Puck was already in his boxers, so it wasn't a huge task, even when being careful not to drag them over the fresh road rash on his leg. There was plenty of uninterrupted skin to enjoy, to run his hands over, and it seemed that Puck's experience had made him a little oversensitive, because every touch brought forth a fresh barrage of moans.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, staring down into Puck's eyes, "but I don't think I'm going to be thinking much about that in a few minutes if we keep going."

"Don't care," Puck groaned, grabbing Dave's wrist and tugging him down onto his chest, the bandaged portion propped to one side. "Want you. Now. I missed you  _so much."_  His hands were restless, stroking over Dave's arms, his back, pulling him closer. "And I felt like such a fucking idiot, you know? Five days - I mean, what the hell?"

Dave finally gave in and let himself be pulled down on top of Puck, relaxing enough to put most of his weight on him, pressing him into the mattress. The desperate moan Puck let out seemed to indicate he was all right with that.

"I know," Dave said, "I missed you too, so much, I had no idea." Puck was lifting his head off the bed, struggling to get some more height, but he didn't have much room to do it with Dave still on his chest. It looked awkward, and Dave didn't mind helping, so he put a hand under the back of Puck's head, supporting it. He lifted up a little, convincing Puck to let go and lean back into it, and when he did, Dave lowered his own head the tiny distance needed to meet his lips. He kissed Puck, gently and patiently at first, just to make a point. He had no idea what it was; maybe  _I'm here, it's okay, you don't need to fight so hard for this. I'm giving it to you._ But when Puck's mouth opened for him, it quickly turned into a definite _no, I'm taking it_.

And Dave could feel it, the way Puck responded to the change by surrendering the last bit of weight into Dave's hand. Dave let him, then lowered Puck's head to the mattress, kissing him the whole way down.

His other hand was still holding Puck's. Dave changed his grip to get a firm hold around Puck's wrist, lifted it and put it back down a little higher up, and Puck responded by arching his back, thrusting up against Dave with a little gasp.

"You're so hot," Dave told him, and he knew it was ridiculous and breathless and desperate, but it didn't matter anymore. "Fuck, I have to do this, you..." - he reached down to grab Puck's other wrist, and he wasn't really even thinking anymore about where Puck might want his hands, they were coming with Dave's where he needed them - "...so damn gorgeous." He pushed himself up a little on his arms, pinning Puck's wrists against the bed with the same force.

Puck was gazing up at him, dark eyes wide open. Dave stared into them for a moment, and then he couldn't anymore, because all the words were falling out, the whole miserable week. He rested his forehead against Puck's and talked into his mouth, telling him  _I love you, god, so much, I don't know what I'd do without you, my whole life is you now and I love it and I have no idea what to do with that, I'm sorry, I love you, you're so hot like this,_  and the whole time he could feel Puck under him, his hips twisting and his wrists tugging, resisting Dave's hold just a little, but not enough that Dave was willing to listen. He knew, he  _knew,_  this was what Puck needed, and he said it, he whispered  _you need this, and I need to take it from you._

"Oh god," Puck said suddenly, his poor battered body writhing under Dave, and his hips snapped up in a helpless rhythm, and he was moaning and shuddering, and Dave could feel the heat and wetness of Puck's release, even as he was crying under the weight of Dave's hands.

Dave wasn't sure what had just happened, if he should move, or say something, but he thought the safest thing to do - if he was honest, what he wanted to do - was to stay right there. He loosened his grip on Puck's wrists, sliding his left hand down a little to lie in Puck's, and his right up along his arm and shoulder and behind his ear to cradle his head. All the time, Puck was squeezing his eyes shut, turning his head away, muttering, "God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Hey. You're fine," Dave whispered into Puck's ear. He kissed it decisively. "I have no idea what you're so sorry about."

Puck took a couple steadying breaths and gulped back his sobs in clear frustration. "I'm just so - you have no idea what you do to me, Dave, I just couldn't - the whole time you were gone, I felt so fucking helpless, and then you got  _home,_  and I'm  _still_  fucking helpless." He shook his head. "Just waiting for you to get sick of that, to piss you off and send you running."

"I'm not going anywhere. I like you helpless." Dave didn't really know why he was saying it, nothing would get through to Puck right now anyway. Well, almost nothing. Sometimes it was better to just get on with it and show him. "And I'm going to fuck you now," he told him. "If that's okay with you."

Puck moaned, loud, and his whole body went loose, pressing up against Dave. "God,  _yes._  That's definitely  _okay_  with me. _"_

Dave's head dropped. He was relieved - because _what the hell_ had he just said, and how had that turned out okay? - and that, on top of the sudden rush of wanting Puck  _even more_ than he already had two seconds ago, was almost too much. But his head cleared, and the strength came back to his arms, so he pushed himself back up.

Puck's eyes were half-lidded, his cheeks were flushed and his breathing was shallow. The sticky spot on Dave's abdomen notwithstanding, he didn't  _look_  like he'd gotten what he needed yet.  Dave definitely hadn't. He needed more, more of those noises, to be the one making Puck helpless and desperate, to be inside him, taking him apart and giving him what he needed.

So he did, starting with just one finger, and it was all very wet and messy and might have seemed kind of stupid, but it didn't, not at all. It was amazing, because Puck was still responding to every little move he made, like Dave's fingers and the hand on his hip were the center of his world. Everything else might be a little foggy, but he felt Puck like every touch was stronger and warmer, every bit of skin so sensitive it almost hurt. And Puck, laying himself wide open and trusting under him, letting Dave in, letting him do exactly what he wanted.

"You're so beautiful like this," Dave told him, without stopping what he was doing.

Puck was making some of those noises he'd been seeking, scarcely words at all, little more than breath, but every now and then Dave could hear his name, and a lot of  _god_  and  _yes_  mixed in. It was a heady brew, and Dave felt a little drunk on it.

Puck's hips were starting to twist too much, so Dave put a little more weight on his hand, holding him still. If he wanted more, he'd get it - but Dave was deciding when. He paused for what seemed like forever but was probably only a second, and then, thinking he'd made his point, added another finger.

"Mine," he whispered. "I've got you. You're mine."

"Yours," Puck replied, almost too hoarse and choked to be understood. "Yeah. God, I am."

The combination of Dave's weight on top of him, and the way Dave was sliding into him, and all of his crazy, dangerous words were having a remarkable effect on Puck. Dave knew by now the things that Puck loved most, and he could probably take him the rest of the way toward getting off again just by using his tongue on Puck's nipple ring. But it wasn't about that; not at all. And Dave thought maybe Puck knew it wasn't, and it was still somehow okay, more than okay.

But he had to ask, anyway, because the chance that the answer was anything but yes was too scary to contemplate. "You really want this from me?" Dave asked, leaning over Puck, making him look at him.

"Anything," Puck panted, "everything - all of it - I want it,  _please."_

It wasn't easy, to keep his hand on Puck's hip while he withdrew his fingers and ripped open the condom, but it seemed important somehow to let Puck know he wasn't going to let him up, wasn't going to let him go. That Puck could count on him to stick around, even if things were sometimes hard, and messy, and awkward.

"You can have it," Dave said, "All of it. Everything you want. Because I want to give it to you."

* * *

There wasn't anything appealing in Dave's mind about the  _idea_  of two postcoital, sweaty, sticky guys on top of each other, but the reality was nothing short of amazing. He waited as long as he could before carefully climbing over Puck's bandaged leg and lying down next to him on the bed. Puck was mostly comatose, and made little more than a grunt as Dave did it.

Dave moved his head over right next to Puck's, close but not quite spooning him, giving him some space to recover. Even so, he felt a little nervous. They'd done... okay, they'd done  _a lot,_  in the past half hour.  _He'd_  done a lot. It had been clear that Puck had enjoyed it, more than enjoyed it, in the moment, but now that it was over, he wondered if things would look different to Puck.

"Just checking in," he murmured, and kissed him on the cheek. Puck didn't open his eyes, but he stirred and stretched, protesting a little. "You okay?"

"Uhhh," Puck said, and chuckled. "Fuck. If you count hurting all over as being okay."

"I'm sorry," Dave began, but then Puck did open his eyes and turned his head, gazing at him with an expression Dave couldn't quite believe was directed at him. It was something like wonder and something like amusement, and even though Dave would have sworn he'd just had enough good feelings to last for several weeks, this one might have eclipsed them all.

"No," Puck assured him. "No way. No sorry. I mean, yeah, I could have done without the road rash, but that wasn't your fault. But the rest..." He trailed off, and lifted a hand to rest on Dave's chest. "I just feel so..."

Dave waited as long as he could, but eventually he had to prompt, "Feel so what?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate.

Puck swallowed, and his voice broke on the last word. "So  _lucky."_

Dave pulled him closer. Puck's head fit perfectly on his shoulder, tucked as tightly against Dave as he could get.  _Lucky._  Not hurt, not unsure, not empty, none of the things he'd been afraid to hear. "Yeah," he whispered. "So lucky."

Puck's velvet-smooth head rubbed pleasantly against the skin in the hollow of Dave's arm. "One thing, though."

It was hard to feel worried, with Puck in his arms like this. "Yeah?"

"We don't really need those things anymore. Do we?"

"Things." For a moment, Dave had no idea what Puck was talking about. Then he felt it, like a shock. "You mean the condom?"

"Yeah." Puck carded through the hair on Dave's chest and held on a little tighter. "I mean, I don't think we do. If you think so, I guess..."

"No, you're right. If you're sure it's okay. I mean, okay with you."

He felt Puck shake his head. "You don't mind. I guess I'm asking..." With an effort, Puck raised himself up on one arm. "This is, like, the next step. Only I've never taken it with another guy."

Dave nodded. "Yeah, that's why I'm asking you...if you're sure, and if you...I guess, what that means? Because I'm already not doing anything with anyone else, and I already want us to be honest with each other, so...what's the next step?"

Puck huffed out a breath. "Hell, Dave, I don't know what it  _means._  I just don't want to do this with anyone else, either. And that's it." He raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Okay." Dave smiled. Maybe it was that simple. "That's good enough for now."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're working our way through writing our OT3-Kurt Big Bang, which is set about a year or two into Dave and Puck's relationship. It'll be ready for public consumption later this summer; we'll be sure to post a link to it here. 
> 
> Enjoy!   
> -amy and Penthea8

 

The first thing Puck said when he walked through Dave's door was, "Dude, do you know about this thing I got in the mail?"

"I might," Dave said, taking the envelope Puck was brandishing at him. It was addressed from UCLA. "Is it from the math department?"

"It's from this guy, Vincent somebody. Isn't he your friend?" Puck seemed more annoyed than Dave would have expected, given the topic.

"Yeah, he's the one I told you about, who does the undergraduate research project." Dave watched him pace the room restlessly. "What's the problem? You like math, you're always doing extra work just for fun. I figured this was right up your alley."

"I like the math just fine. But this isn't just math. They want me to write a  _paper,_  and talk about shit in front of a panel of professors and students, and -" He shook his head emphatically. "No way."

Dave wasn't sure if he could convince him, or even if he should, but he knew that reaction - that automatic  _I can't_  - and it wasn't about not wanting it, not really. "Hey. Hang on a second." He put out a hand, and Puck stopped his pacing, letting Dave pull him in close. Puck was scowling.

"First of all - you don't have to do this, so don't freak out. He's the one who suggested it to me, when he heard about... well, when I told him you like math." Dave didn't think Puck needed to be distracted by the word  _genius_  or  _talent_  here, no matter what Dave thought. "Second, if you want to do it, it's not as hard as you think. You're being way too hard on yourself. You've made it through college this far, and don't tell me you've never written a paper before."

"No," Puck said, "but I've sure as hell never done one by  _choice_. It's like... intentionally eating kale or something."

Dave kind of liked kale, but he didn't need to belabor that point. "You're not alone in this," he insisted. "Whatever you're worried about, it's not going to be as bad as you imagine."

Puck actually glared at him, and Dave stepped back a little. "That's easy for you to say," he said. "You can write things that make  _sense._  You've never had a professor tell you might as well drop out of school because your grammar and spelling looks like it was done by a third grader."

Dave didn't know that professor, had no idea who it might be, but for one crazy second he wanted to hunt him down and hurt him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I know," he mumbled. "Wouldn't it be nice to prove him wrong, though? Nobody cares if you can write for this, or how much help you need with the spelling, or whatever. Not if the ideas and the math are good."

But Puck was just getting more agitated. "Dude, I  _can't,"_ he said, gritting his teeth. "You don't get it. I'm just a loser. I've always  _been_  a loser, and I always  _will_  be."

"No." Dave cut him off. He wasn't going to get anywhere with reason, and sure, Puck might get mad and it might end up worse, but he'd take that chance. He put his arms around him. "Maybe people told you that, so what, they don't know what they're talking about."

" _You_  don't know what you're talking about," Puck shot out. "You think you know what I can do, but you're just - "

"You know what? Just stop." Dave knew he was probably stepping over some line, and he wasn't even actually angry with Puck. He was so damn angry with the rest of the world, though, for doing this to his boyfriend. "That's just...fuck everyone who ever told you that." He took Puck's wrists and held them. Puck took a sharp, quick breath. "Babe, breathe. You're okay, but you're not going to listen to wherever that is coming from, all right?"

Puck let out the breath he was holding, looking startled, like he hadn't realized he'd stopped. He blinked, and stared at Dave. For a moment, Dave wasn't sure what he was going to do - yell at him, or start to cry, or turn and run. But then he relaxed his shoulders, and nodded, silently, just bowing his head and accepting Dave's words.

Dave loosened his grip and ran his hands up Puck's arms to his back. Puck let himself be guided closer, but he didn't say anything, or raise his head, so Dave held him, hoping the silence and the light, steady weight of Puck leaning against his chest just a little, meant that they were okay. "I love you," he murmured against Puck's skin, not really caring if he could tell what he was saying, "I don't care about any stupid papers, babe. You're my perfect, amazing boyfriend, and I only told Vincent to send that invitation because I know how good you are, and I'm...so damn proud of you, okay?"

Puck looked up. "Really?" he asked, sounding skeptical, but his eyes were open and vulnerable and hopeful.

Dave opened his mouth to say something, but he had no idea what to do with all those feelings, he wasn't even sure what they were, and definitely not what they were doing making him want to wrap his smart, capable fighter of a boyfriend in his arms and keep him safe there forever. Puck would roll his eyes at him, maybe say something about not being a fucking girl, but the way he was looking at him right now, Dave almost thought he might still let him do it. "Yeah, really, " he finally managed to choke out, still staring into Puck's eyes.

A faint smile crossed Puck's face, and Dave felt his shoulders drop and his breathing even out. "I guess I still think I'm somehow getting away with something here," he said. "There's no way anybody should have let me into college to begin with, not with my high school GPA."

Dave shook his head. "But this isn't about high school anymore, babe. You're here, and you're doing well.  _Really_  well. And I'm your teacher, so I should know." Puck laughed at that, and relaxed a little further. Now he was resting his head on Dave's shoulder. Dave ran a hand over his neck. "I'm so proud of you," he said again.

Puck sighed. "Is it okay that I think you're an idiot for thinking that?"

"Think whatever you want; I know I'm right." He kissed Puck's cheek. "So would you let me help you put some of your ideas together and send them in?"

There was a long pause, during which Puck burrowed in a little deeper into Dave's arms. Finally, he said, "Yeah, okay."

Dave tightened his grip. "Thank you," he said. "I know it's not that easy, so...thank you for trusting me." He kissed Puck's temple, then pulled away, smiling. "This is going to be great."

* * *

After that conversation, though, Dave realized how much it had been bothering him. He stewed about it for a few hours before picking up the phone and calling Elliott.

"How was the conference?" he wanted to know. "Your kids did fine. We had a good time making group multiplication tables."

"And...then from what I've heard, Puck cornered you and got you to try to explain continuous symmetry groups? I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"Is that the guy with the shaved head? No, he's got a lot of good ideas."

Dave thought that was an understatement, but he ignored it and went on. "Yeah, that's kind of the thing... he's doing this undergraduate research project, and... well, I'm thinking he might need some outside support."

"Outside support?"

"Yeah. Someone to assist him. Besides me."  _Because I'm the one he's sleeping with._ Dave thought the words as hard as he could, but there was no way he could say them out loud. "Do you think you can help me out with this?"

Elliott paused. "Yeah, Dave, of course." He cleared his throat. "So this student, Noah...?"

"Puck."

"Right. Puck. Your class isn't very big, is it?"

"Just eighteen?"

"Mmmm." He paused again. "Well, I was thinking you might still need some help with grading those final exams. Like, maybe it would make sense for me to do some of them. Just in case... you get overwhelmed, you know?"

Dave felt a ridiculous flood of relief at the suggestion. Elliott had managed to solve his problem without jeopardizing either of their positions - well, any more than he already was jeopardizing his own, anyway. Never mind that he didn't know how he was going to look Elliott in the eye again. "Yeah. That would be great. Really great. Thanks... for thinking of me."

"Hey, what are friends for?" He heard Elliott laugh. "And maybe I've had that experience once myself. It's... overwhelming, I know, and you might feel a little guilty? For... not being able to keep up with your grading, right?"

Huh. "A little bit, maybe." Okay, more than a little, and now that he'd been caught, even by someone who apparently was completely on his side, it was harder not to think about it. "Yeah, I mean...I think I'm doing okay, but I have some students...like Puck, I really don't want to mess things up with him, you know?"

"Yeah, I got that. Some students are special, I know. You're paying attention to what they need, academically. Right?"

"Academically. Yeah. Actually..." Dave was probably just digging himself deeper, but Elliott had been so understanding, and he really didn't want to risk having to do this again with someone else. "Okay, I probably shouldn't ask you this, but - Puck, right? He's doing that research thing. And he needs someone to walk him through the steps, help him do a literature review, put together a presentation. And I - I'm going to be helping him too, of course, but I think..."

"Dave. It's fine. I'm happy to advise him in that process. You don't have to worry about it."

Dave stopped himself. Elliott was right, there was no reason to try to explain. "Yes. Thank you. So...I'll tell him that. When I see him."

"In class." His voice was teasing, and Dave felt himself flush.

"Uh, yeah. In class."

* * *

Dave was surprised to find Connor sitting next to him when he looked up from his crossword. "Hey," he said. He still felt a little uncertain about how he should behave around Connor, considering he was Puck's ex-boyfriend (and apparently, until recently, a  _convenience),_  but he figured he should at least be polite.

"Don't mind me," said Connor. "Puck and I were going to talk business before heading to band practice."

Dave nodded at the junior karate class in progress. "I was just waiting for Beth... she's been wanting to go on a bike ride."

Connor smiled a little. "Seems like you guys are getting along pretty well, huh?"

"I think so," Dave said. They watched as Beth did an awesome roundhouse, and Connor made a shout of approval. She grinned over at them, and waved at Dave. He waved back, awkwardly.

"She's a great kid." Connor stretched out his legs. "Between her and my nephews, I'm pretty well set for uncle status." He glanced over at Dave. "How about you? You want kids?"

Dave paused, staring at his hands. "Uh..."

"Because I know Puck, and he totally needs a guy who'll spend time with his kid. Last thing he should have is somebody who'd rather be out partying or something."

Dave laughed. "Yeah, at least I can say that, I'd definitely not rather be out partying." He shook his head, following Beth with his eyes as she kicked her way across the room. "I don't know about wanting kids, but it's pretty awesome having her around."

Puck gathered the kids together into two rows, had a few quiet words with them, and they all bowed, turning their fists over with one hand on top, the way he'd seen Puck do during his own practice sessions in his backyard. He was calm and friendly to the kids as they left, giving them high-fives, but the expression on his face as he approached Dave afterward was anything but calm.

"Somebody complained," he said grimly. "Apparently we're not very subtle."

"Somebody -" Dave went cold and queasy before he even knew exactly what he was afraid of. Then he figured it out, and it hit like a second, stronger wave. He would lose his job. Everyone would know. Why had they gone to Puck, though, if he was the one in trouble? "Wait, who? Another student?"

"No - a parent, here at the school." He snorted. "They seem to think it's not an appropriate learning environment for their sweet little darling."

Oh. Dave stood very still, waiting to feel a little calmer before he tried to respond to that. That was still bad, but...well, for Puck, maybe it was actually worse? Dave probably shouldn't mention that he'd misunderstood.

"What, because you're  _gay?"_  Connor said incredulously.

"I guess. It was the fact of me plus another guy, I think." Puck wouldn't look at Dave.

Connor started laughing. "Uh, jeez. They just haven't been paying very close attention around here, have they? Because there was you and  _me,_  and there was you and -"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Puck said, glancing around the dojo. "Tone it down, man."

Connor's laughter cut off abruptly. "Yeah, that's the answer," said Connor, looking quizzical and a little hurt. "More hiding. That doesn't sound like you. Since when do you listen to what anybody else tells you what to do?"

At that point, Beth came dashing over and slung her arms around Puck's waist, grinning at Dave. "Didja bring your bike?" she said immediately.

"Of course," he said, smiling back. "Did you? Because I think I heard something about going for a ride together later."

"Hey, kiddo." Puck lifted her up by her two arms and she shrieked as he swung her around. "Me and Dave are in the middle of this conversation, okay? Can you go take off your gi jacket and your belt and stick them in my bag? I'll drive them home for you."

"'Kay." She sped off as quickly as she'd arrived. Puck sighed.

"A two hour workout and she's as energetic as ever."

Connor nudged his shoulder with his fist. "You're looking pretty spry yourself there, grandpa." But Puck just twisted away from Connor's touch, his face troubled. It could have been nothing, but Dave didn't think so, and judging from the expression on Connor's face, he didn't think so either.

"Whatever, man," Connor muttered. "I'll meet you at Finn's. See you, Dave."

"Yeah, see you." They watched him go as the students milled around, gathering their

things and bidding farewell to Puck and each other on their way out the door. Beth was occupied playing with one of her classmates.

Dave touched Puck's shoulder and looked pointedly at the closed office door. He left his hand there for a moment, steering Puck towards it. Maybe the gesture was too intimate to be completely safe, but nobody would probably notice, and, well, the complaint had already been made. Puck got the hint and walked in front of him into the office, and Dave closed the door behind them.

"What was that all about?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking  _okay,"_  Puck snapped. His hands clenched and unclenched as he paced the small office. "I'm pissed. I mean, I'm a good teacher. These kids are getting exactly what they signed up to learn. What the hell does it matter who I'm fucking?"

"It's Lima. Not everyone wants their kids around a gay teacher. It sucks, but...you knew that, right?" Dave still felt a little responsible. Of course Puck knew what it was like, but he hadn't had the experience of having a boyfriend, or actually being out in any real way, in that environment. Dave had, involuntary as it might have been. "I'm sorry, though. I should have said something. Been more careful, maybe. I just thought...well, you live here, and you know what it's like. I guess I thought you didn't care." He looked at Puck, wondering what he might be thinking. "But you do? Or you're afraid of what might happen?"

"I  _don't_  care. I don't." Dave thought it sounded a little like Puck was trying to convince himself of something. He hesitated, then looked up at Dave, his brow furrowed. "But I thought  _you_  did. I mean... don't you?"

Dave moved closer and placed his hands on Puck's upper arms. "Babe, everyone in Lima who knows me at all knows I'm gay. Hell, even those who don't...they don't remember my name, but they know the story. I'm worried about  _you_. " He let go of Puck and ran a hand through his hair. "And, okay, I'm worried about being your teacher, because I'm breaking a few important rules doing that, but I'm getting Elliott to grade your exam. In just a few weeks, the semester is over, and we won't have to think about that anymore."

"Oh." Puck blinked. "That's - uh, that's a good idea. I guess I didn't think about that." He moved a few inches closer to Dave, as though he were missing the broken contact, not quite touching him, but almost. "So what do you think I should do about things here at the school?"

"This will be fine. You're doing a good job here. So if you're okay with people knowing about us, you can talk to those parents and tell them that, yes, you have a boyfriend, but that doesn't change your standards or how you run your classes. And we'll be as careful around here as we need to not get in trouble." Dave shrugged. "Maybe a few of the worst ones might leave, but that wouldn't be so bad, would it? It sucks for the kids, I guess, but it's not really your fault."

Puck nodded. "Yeah. I should probably call them back, or something."

"Yes. But right now, I think you have a daughter waiting for you. And me." Dave pushed away from the desk he was leaning on. "Ready to go?"

Puck opened the door and stepped outside, then instantly froze. He turned to Dave. "That's them," he said quietly. "Didn't want to wait for me to call, I guess."

Dave held on to the door. Okay, that was maybe not ideal, but they'd have to face them eventually. "The ones over there?" he asked. They were an ordinary-looking couple, not that much older than them, probably, adjusted for Lima parents married before they were twenty. The woman looked vaguely familiar. "Didn't she go to McKinley or something?"

"Dayna Ingersoll," Puck said. "She was a couple years ahead of us. Pretty much what it looks like."

Beth provided a moment of distraction by running over and informing them that she'd put her things in Puck's bag, and she was ready, and could they go? "Just a moment," Dave told her. "Those people want to talk to your dad, and I think we should wait for him."

"You don't have to wait," Puck said. His face was grim. "This is my business. I should take care of it."

"It's about me too, isn't it? I'll stay, if that's okay with you."

Dave had no explanation for the flood of relief he felt at Puck's red face and sheepish, grateful smile. He didn't take his hand or touch him in any way, but Dave was certain neither Dayna nor her husband could have missed the intimacy in that expression.

"Okay," said Puck, quietly. "Yeah. Stay."

Dave watched in silence, fielding Beth's questions and attempts to do a handstand against the wall while Puck spoke to Dayna and Mr. Dayna, whose name turned out to be Hank. He looked more uncomfortable than upset, but Dayna's mouth was a thin, grim line, and she kept glancing at Dave. He wasn't sure what to do with that, so he looked back and tried to let as little as possible show on his face, because it was easy to guess that anything that did would be used against him, no matter what it might be.

"I heard you had a concern," said Puck.

Dayna looked uncertain, being put on the spot, but she didn't back down. "Jamie came home with stories he'd heard from Beth about you and your..." She floundered, glaring at Hank.

"Dave, right? Dave Karofsky?" Hank tried a friendly smile.

"That's me." Dave smiled back as best he could. Beth hung on his back, and he hoisted her up onto his back.

"Why is Jamie's mom mad at Dad?" she whispered in Dave's ear.

"Um." Dave was not ready for this, but here he was anyway. "Sometimes people just get mad for their own reasons," he mumbled. He wondered if he should be taking Beth away from this situation, but so far, everyone seemed to be behaving themselves, and he really didn't want to look like he was running from anything.

Puck was making an effort to stay polite. "Isn't Jamie enjoying class? He's done a good job; he pays attention and -"

"Yes," she said tightly. "He pays attention. He knows just what's going on."

"Just what do you think is going on?"

She gave him a pointed stare. "You know what I mean. Jamie's only seven. He doesn't need to hear about - there's no need for him to learn about -"

Puck waited for her to stumble to a halt. He seemed completely at ease as he nodded at her. "So, Dayna, tell me... do you know about Sensei Owen's girlfriend? Like, all the stuff they do in bed together?"

Dayna turned pink, and Dave murmured, "Puck..."

"No, it's okay." He held up a hand, not looking away from her. "Do you?"

"I hadn't heard..." she began stiffly, and Puck interrupted.

"No. Of course not. It's personal. Just like my relationship with Dave is personal. I don't make it my students' business, any more than Sensei Owen does."

Hank stepped forward, a hand on Dayna's arm. She was speechless. Dave wondered if the tremble in her hand was from rage or embarrassment. He figured either one would be justified, but he felt a sense of vindictive pride at Puck's words.

"I think what Dayna's saying, Mr. Puckerman, is that she'd rather - we'd rather - that Jamie not learn about things like that until he's older."

"Things like that."

Puck's echo of Hank's words were mild, but they gave Dave a sick feeling in his stomach. This was about to get a lot worse. He could see the desperate appeal on Hank's face.

Dave wasn't sure if he sympathized, or if it was just pity, but he and Hank did have a common interest in keeping this from blowing up completely. He stepped forward too, hoping the sight of him with Beth would calm Puck down more than it might provoke Dayna. "I think the point here is, I am going to be around occasionally, but like Sensei Puckerman told you, you can be sure that class won't involve the details of his or anybody else's personal life." He looked at Puck, who was staring at Dayna, who was staring back.

"Honey," Hank murmured, tugging on her arm. She gave a short sigh and turned away. He relaxed and smiled apologetically at Dave.

"Sorry," he mouthed as they walked toward the door.

Beth hopped from one foot to the other. "Can we get our bikes  _now?"_

Before answering her, Dave turned to Puck and put a hand on his arm. "Is that okay? We'll take the bikes back to Shelby's house, and you'll meet us there?"

Dave could feel him trembling, but he nodded. "Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he said softly. "For staying. And... just, thanks."

Dave tightened his grip on Puck's arm for a moment, then let go. "Of course I stayed."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and he gave Beth a wave. "You listen to Dave, okay? No stupid stunts on the way home. Don't drive like your dad."

* * *

Dave tried to step back and let Puck and Elliott handle the paper writing, but he couldn't avoid seeing some of what Puck was working on. Sometimes he asked for help, and sometimes he just sat there with a notebook - easy to tell from Dave's because his were always the ones with blank pages, while Dave used graph paper, so there was no excuse to pick one up and look through it. So he was a little surprised when, that evening, Puck handed him one of those spiral notebooks and asked, "Will you take a look at this?"

Dave put down the book he was reading. "Yeah, of course. What is it?"

Puck shrugged. "Just some proofs, I was wondering if you could see if it makes sense to you, or if I need to make anything clearer." Dave took the notebook and opened it. He didn't actually know any of the details of this stuff, but he guessed that meant if he could follow it, it was well written. "What's a braid group again?" he asked.

"What it sounds like. Like...braiding hair. It's kind of a generalization of the symmetric group?" Dave smiled. "I don't think I know how that works, actually. Only theoretically. But, yeah, okay, braiding, I remember. Vincent showed me this thing with knots, I don't think it's that different."

"Really, you've never...?" Puck looked amazed. "No, I guess you don't have any sisters."

Dave shook his head. No sister, no daughter, no girlfriends unless you counted Santana in high school, and she sure as hell never asked him to braid her hair. He kept reading, thinking about Puck and Sarah, back when Puck might have been doing that for her, but soon he was absorbed in the math. It all looked right, and even better, it was actually interesting.

"Did Elliott talk to you about trying to publish this?" he asked.

Puck shrugged, avoiding Dave's eyes. "I guess."

Dave hid his smile. He knew Puck well enough by now to understand what this meant. "Did he tell you what you needed to do in order to get it ready?"

Puck poked at the notebook with his pencil, scowling. "It's just a bunch of ideas, nothing solid."

"Okay, but they're good ideas. It's a start."

"I just can't stop thinking about what happened this afternoon," Puck burst out. The pencil rolled across the table and stopped a few inches from Dave. "I didn't know what to do; I was just so  _mad."_

"Yeah, I could tell." Dave picked up the pencil. "She really was awful. I don't blame you. I mean, yeah, maybe you shouldn't have said all of that, but she deserved to hear it."

"It pissed me off. I can take it, usually, but it hit me differently today, you know? It's like, all I could see when I looked at Dayna was,  _is this the kind of life I want for Beth?_  This sack of lies? If I'm in Lima, she's going to have to live with people talking trash about her dad all the time." He twisted his fingers together. "Because of who I love. Because I love  _you."_

Dave nodded. "I know. It's not all like that, but, yeah, there's a reason I was happy to leave." He smiled a little and tossed the pencil back on the table.

"Yeah, but I can't do anything about it anyway, because Shelby's  _there,_  and Sarah and my ma are  _there,_  and there's not much I can do about it." He blew a breath out of his nose. "And you're  _here._  And... I just want to be  _here,_  too."

Dave got up and walked around the table to Puck and sat down next to him. "I love having you here. But, yeah, they need you too." He turned and put his arms around Puck, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're doing your best with what it is, babe. For you, and Beth, and everybody. It's just hard. But you're amazing."

Puck looked surprised, then pleased, and he grinned at Dave. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Of course I do."

Puck cocked his head, pulling back far enough to look at him. "What about you? What do you want? I mean, at some point you're going to be done with school, here. You want to stick around? Columbus, whatever?"

Dave sighed. "All I know is I'm not going back to Lima. I mean...sure, I wouldn't mind staying in Columbus, but really, I might have to go wherever I can get a job." Until a few months ago, he hadn't thought of that as a problem, because what was there that he wanted in Ohio, that he couldn't find somewhere else?

Puck nodded, looking away. "I guess I knew that. I'm - well, I'm sorry for making it more complicated."

"You're not - okay, I guess you are." He sighed again, but he was smiling. "It's just...different. To have someone I'd want to stay for. But it's not a bad thing." Dave reached out and took Puck's hand. "It's really good. And we have a few years, anyway, before I'm going anywhere."

"You think..." Puck squeezed his hand. "You think we'll still be doing this, in a few years?"

"I -" Dave looked down. "I don't want to freak you out, and, I mean, nobody knows the future. But - I think we could, yeah."

Puck's smile grew, until he grabbed Dave in a brief, enormous hug. "Yeah," he said. "I think we could, too. And it doesn't freak me out at all. I just... " He rested his hands lightly on Dave's hips, looking thoughtful. "Did you ever work on a jigsaw puzzle without having a picture of what it will look like when you're done?"

Dave smiled. "No, actually, I always used to have the picture on the box in front of me so I'd know how to do it right."

"Yeah, me, too. Except sometimes, me and Sarah, we lost the box. I kind of feel like that. Like, we have all these pieces - you, and me, and your job, and the dojo, and Beth and Shelby, and - everything. I just don't know how to put them together to make... the thing they're going to make yet." Puck shrugged, laying his hand on Dave's chest. "But it seems like, maybe, they're  _supposed_ to go together. Like they're all part of the same puzzle, and someday... someday it'll be complete."

"Yeah, I know. And actually...I think I might want to try it without the picture this time. Because I kind of feel like maybe I had the wrong box, before. And I'd break the pieces, trying so hard to make them fit, and still be mad that I could never make it look like it was supposed to." He placed his hand on top of Puck's. "So, yeah, I think it's better this way."

Puck smiled hopefully. "You think with some of my pieces and some of your pieces, it'll all fit together somehow?"

"Yes." Dave smiled back. "I think it might."

Dave didn't think much more about that conversation until he woke up two nights later to find Puck sitting up in bed, his arms around his knees, staring at the wall.

"Babe?" He rolled over to touch his arm. "You okay? What's going on?"

"The picture. On our box." Puck wiped his nose with his hand, and Dave realized his cheeks were wet with tears. He sat up and put an arm around Puck's shoulder.

"What do you mean, our box?"

"Our puzzle. I mean, my puzzle. The one we're building together, with no picture." He turned his head to face Dave, his eyes glistening in the faint light from the window. "I saw it. In my dream, I saw the picture. The whole thing."

Dave was a little surprised, and it was the middle of the night, but this seemed to be important. "Really?" he asked softly, running his hand down Puck's back and up again. "So what did it look like?"

Puck hesitated. Then he laughed, scrubbing his wet cheeks with his palms. "I thought you said you wanted to try it without the picture this time."

Dave laughed and shook his head. "Yes, I guess I did. Okay, don't tell me."

"No... okay." Puck returned his gaze to the wall, lapsing back into silence. Dave didn't think he'd ever seen him look quite so perfect and beautiful as he did at that moment, but he wasn't going to interrupt to say anything.

"The garage had two cars," he said finally. "There were hooks on the walls with two big bikes and one small one. There was one of those door flap thingies for the cat to go outside. You kept yelling at the kids to stop slamming the door when they went in and out."

Dave smiled, watching him. "I was yelling, huh?"

"Not like you were mad. Just... you know, reminding them. 'Cause they know the rules. Sometimes they just forget them." Puck's eyes flickered to Dave, then back to the wall. "They had duffel bags, backpacks, something, and they were dressed in their gis and belts."

"Orange belts," Dave guessed. Puck shot him an offended look.

"Dude.  _My_  kids? Purple belts at least." His smile slipped off his face, and he waited at least a minute before saying the next part. "I... wasn't there."

"What do you mean you weren't there. Then how do you know what it looked like?"

"I don't know. You were there, and... uh, some kids." He thought about it. "But yeah, I guess I must have been there, because I saw everything. I just don't know what I looked like."

"I'm sure you looked as perfect as always." Dave smiled. "A little older, maybe, with all those kids. But don't tell me you think I'd raised a couple of purple belts all by myself." He leaned over and kissed Puck's cheek. "We'll find out, okay? If it's really our box...we'll get there."

Puck smiled back. He looked like he might have some response to that, but in the end, he just nodded.

"So do you think you're ready to go back to sleep now? Because it's still three thirty." Dave rubbed Puck's neck a little. Puck nodded again, and Dave lay back down. "Okay, come here," he said, stretching his arm out across the bed.

There was something about the way they fit together when Puck lay against him like that, with his cheek on Dave's chest and one arm flung casually over Dave's middle. He considered this sensation for a long, silent moment, feeling Puck's back rise and fall under his hand.

"My dad and I did jigsaw puzzles sometimes," Puck said. "I don't remember much, but I remember that. I must have been six or seven. He had a killer laugh. When we finished a puzzle, he'd give me a big high five and it was, like, the best feeling in the world."

"It does feel good," murmured Dave, "when you find a piece that fits." He pressed his lips against Puck's head. "Now go to sleep, babe; we have a class in the morning."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the most frustrating thing to know how a story will end and somehow not be able to finish it. But we're making progress, and hopefully this story will be concluded before the end of the month, when we'll be publishing our piece for the Kurt-OT3 Big Bang. It's 30k of Puck/Dave/Kurt craziness (and, still, our endgame is Puckofsky; really). In the meantime, enjoy the Dave/Puck academic angst. Previous warnings for mild D/s apply to this chapter.   
> \- amy and Penthea

 

Dave wasn't sure when it had happened during the course of the fall, but somewhere along the way, Puck had shifted from being a guest to being as much a member of the household as Pascal was. He had his own key, and he was there most evenings, even when he didn't have to be in Columbus the next morning. Sometimes when Dave got home from class or a bike ride, he found dinner already made - usually just pasta or something simple, but Dave wasn't complaining. He would occasionally wake up to a suddenly clean bathroom or the sound of the vacuum cleaner. One day the sliding glass door that led to the deck magically stopped sticking. Puck even changed the cat box without being asked, which was almost embarrassingly awesome.

It wasn't a challenge for Dave to have Puck around anymore. He didn't feel crowded, or uncomfortable, or uneasy in any way. Except for one way - and it was the hardest thing for Dave to bring up, because it wasn't something  _bad._  It did happen, however, increasingly more frequently.

He finally said something about it after dinner one night, when Puck was sitting next to him on the couch surfing the 'net, and Dave was attempting to focus enough to get some work done. The operative word being  _focus._.. which was mostly captured by the gorgeous guy next to him.

"Can you just..." Dave trailed off, his eyes following the line of Puck's neck, the legs stretched out to rest on the table.

Puck looked up from his laptop, smirking, and put his feet back on the floor. "Yeah?"

Dave shook his head. "Never mind."

Puck laughed a little. "All right, babe, but you know all you have to do is ask."

He might not have meant it that way, but Dave felt warmer anyway, and it didn't get even a little bit easier to focus on his work. Maybe he should move to the kitchen, but he knew that wouldn't help, he'd still have a head full of Puck's eyes and his shoulders and his low voice offering  _anything you want, just tell me what to do_.

Dave stared at the theorem on the page again, willing it to make some kind of sense, to stop being just symbols -  _Puck, naked in his bed, just barely awake -_ strictly upper triangular matrices, he knew this wasn't supposed to be this hard - those are really just exponentials, or cycles, or -  _curling around him, whispering, come on, babe, I need you -_  Dave rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.

Puck moved closer on the couch, putting his arm on Dave's shoulder, squeezing the stiff muscles a little. "Too complicated this late?" he asked, leaning over to look at the page. "You could just come to bed. The math will be there tomorrow."

Dave groaned. "Yeah, and so will you," he said tiredly. "I mean, not like that...okay, kind of like that, I just..." He looked up, and seeing Puck's face, he had to smile a little, and finally admit, "You're just really distracting, you know?"

Puck tilted his head and looked at him uncertainly. He was definitely not less distracting up close. "Uh, sorry. I can leave - I was going to bed anyway..."

Dave put down his book. He didn't want Puck to leave, or to finish this stupid chapter, and if Puck was going to bed, he definitely wanted to come too. Which was exactly his problem, except...since when was that a problem? The math  _would_  be there tomorrow. "No, don't," he said. "Not distracting in a bad way." He reached out, too late and from too far away to actually stop Puck from going anywhere, but he stopped anyway, completely willing take a step back and be pulled into Dave's lap.

Dave drew a breath, surprised himself at how loud it was, and put his arms around Puck's waist. "It's just...hard to focus, when all I can think about is how hot you are," he said, looking at Puck's shoulder. He tightened his grip a little, not really wanting to hold back anymore. Whatever. This - amazing, gorgeous person was his boyfriend. Dave was allowed to touch him, to want him, to think about that more or less all the time. Puck even seemed to like it - he was certainly encouraging it, even when Dave knew that all he was really doing was walking across the room.

But then, there were the times when Puck did more than that. When he walked up behind Dave and kissed his neck, invited him to do... things. Times when Dave had to wonder if he was serious, because nobody was actually supposed to want him that way.

"Guys like me don't get this," he murmured. But Puck wasn't responding to the words he was saying, he was leaning into him, relaxing, moaning a little at the pressure of Dave's tongue, and trembling at Dave's hands on him. If the choice was to get all logical and certain he didn't deserve a guy like Puck, or accept what he had, right here in front of him, willing and eager, well... what kind of a choice was that, anyway?

"I'm sorry," Puck said, pulling away with a little laugh. "I don't - I don't mean to be a distraction. Really. I can just go, so you can finish your work."

He really should. But he didn't want to. "No, I -" Dave pulled himself together. Whining really wouldn't help. "Okay, I need to finish this work." He drew Puck in a little closer for a moment anyway. "...but god, babe, I want you so much, and if you wait for me upstairs, I promise I'll make up for it later."

Puck's breath came a little faster at the suggestion, but he went willingly enough, kissing Dave just once more before he took his laptop and disappeared up the stairs.

Knowing Puck was upstairs, getting ready for bed, maybe already in bed, waiting for Dave, should have made it even harder to concentrate, but it didn't. Dave actually managed to focus on the math, and okay, maybe he cut a few corners a little bit, because every now and then he noticed that he'd almost forgotten about Puck, and remember again, with some force. Finally, though, he thought he could call it done without feeling too guilty about it.

He placed all the books and papers in a neat stack for tomorrow, and walked up the stairs, not quite knowing why he wasn't walking  _faster_ , but...Puck was there, he'd be waiting. For Dave to make up for it. The idea was completely surreal, if he tried to think about, because when did his ego grow big enough to warrant such a thought? It was absurd, really. But Puck hadn't laughed; he'd walked up the stairs, and, damn, Dave wanted to make it worth it, somehow.

 _Tell me what to do_ , Puck said, in his head, the one thing he'd asked for that Dave hadn't really been able to give him. He'd tried, and it wasn't even that he didn't want to, exactly, he just...couldn't. It seemed selfish, he'd told himself, but he knew that was an excuse, when Puck was the one asking for it. So if not selfish...it could be that he was afraid to look silly, to look stupid. To fail at that - he just  _couldn't._ Maybe in the end Dave just wasn't as brave as Puck.

He made it up the stairs and into the bathroom, brushing his teeth, thinking about Puck waiting. About how he was risking so much, asking for what he wanted, maybe even needed. He was trusting Dave not to laugh, not to go cold and kind, to not leave. How could Dave not want to give him everything, accept and take all that he offered?

And still...he didn't quite want it enough, or the right way, to make it work.  _Do things to me_ , that had been the other wish, and Dave could do that, definitely, so it wasn't like he was a complete failure. Just thinking about the things he could do made him flush with sudden heat and almost swallow the toothpaste. That was so good. It  _was_  enough, really. Only... he thought, maybe, if he could just get over that...whatever barrier it was, it could be even better. He could blow Puck's mind.  _And maybe, just maybe,_ a little voice whispered,  _his own as well._

Dave rinsed his mouth, pulled the shirt over his head and threw it in the hamper, and headed towards the bedroom. He could try this again.

Dave thought at first that Puck might be asleep when he came into the room, he was lying so still. He approached the bed quietly, shifting the covers away from Puck's shoulder, and he heard his breathing shift, shallow and erratic. "Babe?" he said quietly.

"Here," came Puck's reply. He remained on his side, rolled away to face the wall.

Dave brushed his back with one hand. Puck made a low noise. "You okay?"

"Yeah." His voice was muffled. "Would you - can you come here? Into bed?"

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere else." Dave leaned in and pressed his lips to Puck's skin, feeling him shaking. "Babe, what is it?"

Puck turned his head far enough to meet Dave's gaze over his shoulder, just for a moment. That definitely wasn't fear in his eyes.

"God, Dave, just - please." He took a shuddering breath. "I need you."

Dave wasn't sure what to do, because this was all of a sudden way more intense than he'd expected it to be. "Hey. It's okay. I'm here." He slid into the space between the sheets and the bed, where Puck lay, quivering. When he brushed against his back, Puck was immediately pressing full against him, every inch of his skin trying to conform with the shape of Dave's body. Dave put a possessive hand on his hip, drawing him in tighter, his arm across Puck's chest and over his arms, and as his hand brushed Puck's cock, he could feel how incredibly hard and ready he was.

Puck's voice came quick and desperate, the words tumbling over one another. "I was - I came upstairs, and I tried to wait, to wait until you were ready, because I knew you needed to get your work done. And I totally can do that; I'm not such a mess that I can't wait for half a goddamn hour for you." He shuddered again, and Dave felt him grind back against his cock, which hadn't really been hard a few minutes ago but now  _absolutely_ was. "Except - except I guess I can't. I can't wait for you. I need you  _right now,_  I'm fucking falling apart without it...  _Dave."_ This last was a low groan, as Dave made a little thrust against him.

"But you're not," Dave said. "You've been waiting just fine. And now I'm here, okay?" He kissed the tendons in Puck's neck, felt Puck respond to his mouth, his words. Every touch seemed magnified, as though he had developed some power to affect Puck's entire body with just his fingertips. He slid his hands down Puck's thighs, across his stomach, keeping it light, feeling the tension mount. "To give you what you need." He tightened his grip a little, with the hand that was now back on Puck's hip. "Take what I want."

"Oh god," Puck moaned. His response was all Dave needed.

"Roll over," he said, giving Puck's hip a little nudge in the right direction, but it was just...a hint, really. "On your front." And maybe his voice was a little thick, but Puck seemed to hear it anyway. He let himself fall that quarter turn, and Dave thought,  _that was me, telling him what to do_ , and then he quickly stopped thinking about it, in case putting a name on what he was doing would make it complicated again, instead of just incredibly hot.

Puck, offering himself willingly exactly where and how Dave wanted him - it made it hard to breathe, made it seem like his hands didn't quite belong to him anymore, whatever it was inside him was lifting him up and strangling him at the same time, and while doing all that, it was whispering, no, screaming in his ears,  _take him, he's yours_.

Puck turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Dave, his face hopeful, and a little anxious. "Like that?"

"Yeah, that's great." Dave didn't know how he was still making his hands slide down Puck's body, over his ass and thighs, up again. "God, you look amazing."

"Yeah?" He had no idea how Puck could possibly disbelieve this, but he did seem to.

"Yes. Hold still..." The suggestion came out a little sharper than he'd anticipated, but Puck had been about to  _move,_  and he couldn't have that. Sure enough, Puck froze in place, and even Dave's hand wrapping around him, stroking him, didn't change that. Dave heard Puck make a little gasp. He could feel the incredible tension that was holding him back from responding to Dave's touches, but instead was just... waiting.

"You've been waiting for me to come up here and..." Dave paused, his hands still roaming over Puck's body. Puck was quivering all over now, like the vibration of his body was only held in check by the force of his will, and if he let go - if he broke his control - he might fly off into space, an errant vector with nothing to intersect.  _No._  Dave tightened his hands on Puck's hips, hearing the catch in his breath.  _Puck wasn't going to get lost that way again. Not if Dave could help it._

"And... take over," Dave finished, leaning into Puck's body. Puck didn't exactly press back, but instead he sighed a little, letting Dave move him where he wanted him to go.

"Yeah," said Puck. It sounded more like a plea than an acknowledgement. Dave decided he wanted to hear more of that. No - he wanted to be the one with whom Puck was pleading. With his hands on Puck's skin like this, feeling his strength and unbelievable, thrumming excitement, inspired by nothing more than Dave's touch, it didn't seem strange at all to want that.

"You need me to tell you what's going to happen next." A little more, and Puck  _had_ to move, had to respond to his touch - didn't he? But Puck was still holding still, almost holding his breath, waiting.

"Yes," Puck whispered, resting his cheek on the bed. Still waiting, and Dave got this image of Puck waiting -  _forever,_  without someone to come and catch him. And that just wasn't  _okay._ Not for  _his_  boyfriend.

Dave felt like maybe it was wrong, somehow, to still be so turned on by this, like maybe what Puck really needed was a hug and some reassurance. He didn't think it really was, though. Maybe it was what they  _should_  need. The thing was, he'd done that, and he'd always ended up feeling  _okay_ , but still frustrated, like they'd talked and talked when the right thing would have been to just  _do something._  Maybe it didn't even matter what it was.

He took a deep breath. Puck would forgive him, if this was wrong. He would. Dave had to believe that. He put a hand on Puck's thigh, and felt the muscles twitch under his fingers.

"Spread your legs," he said, and Puck did, instantly, almost before Dave realized he'd spoken.

"That's good," he whispered - he hadn't meant to, but his voice wasn't quite working. He swallowed and let his hand slide up along the inside of Puck's leg. "Yeah, just like that," he said, a little more certainly.

He leaned forward and kissed a spot on Puck's back that seemed like a good one, added a little bite, getting lost in the taste of his skin and the instant, shivering response. Dave let his hand wander aimlessly over Puck's lower body, enjoying the textures, and the little twitches he could elicit, and, he had to admit, the possessive thrill of taking his time, going wherever he wanted, letting his fingers dip between Puck's parted legs, knowing  _his_  boyfriend was lying there like that because  _he'd_  told him to.

Dave got up on his knees, his fingertips still a tiny point of reassuring contact on Puck's back. "Here's what's going to happen now," he said, resting his hand more firmly on Puck's shoulder. "You're going to stay there, and I'll do everything else. Just...relax, and tell me if you're doing okay, and...take it."

"Yeah," Puck panted. "Fuck... that's just what I want."

A tiny part of Dave couldn't believe what he was saying, but it was drowned out by the part that loved it too much to care. Puck's reaction was reassuring, too.

He'd felt the intimacy of being inside someone, before, and been awed by the trust of it, but Dave had never had such a strong sense of power before, of claiming and taking - and of all that being perfectly okay, and welcome. Puck was mostly still and quiet, except for some little noises and twists that Dave took as encouragement, but he still had to ask one more time if everything was really okay.

Puck moaned. "Yes, it's okay. God, Dave. Please."

Then he didn't say anything for a while, at least nothing involving real words. Finally, though, when they were both splayed happily exhausted on the bed, Puck did. Dave gave up on reaching the corner of the duvet to pull it over them and just rolled closer to Puck instead. Puck was continuing to hold still, so still.

"You have no fucking idea how hard it is to  _want_  that, and not to be able to ask for it." He tucked his head against Dave's shoulder. "And to have you giving it to me... holy shit, Dave."

Dave wrapped himself around Puck, letting him feel every bit of him, to know there wasn't one part of him that was alone anymore. "I'm going to do that for you, babe," he said, holding him tight. "Today, and... and tomorrow, and for as long as you need it."

Puck seemed to take that as some kind of permission to move, because he relaxed, his whole body shaking with relief. He was saying something that Dave couldn't quite catch, something just under his breath, until Dave got him turned around in his arms and held him to his chest, and then he could hear it:  _thank you,_  whispered over and over,  _thank you, thank you._

* * *

Connor really did have a great voice. Dave thought he sounded a little like Andy Partridge from XTC, but it wasn't the kind of thing you could say to a person without a lot of explanation, so he just kept it to himself.

And listening to their band practice was more like watching a comedy improv show with music. Connor and Nicole bantered back and forth, witty and cutting by turns, and Finn played a dogged, patient straight man, while Puck alternated between concentrating fiercely on the music and saying totally outrageous and hilarious things. There was the music, too, which was earnestly hard-rock, and none of them seemed like they were working too hard at gelling into something that sounded great.

Dave found himself looking forward to band rehearsals, even though he didn't have much to do other than be entertained. It was kind of nice to have a place to work on crosswords without feeling guilty for not doing something else. And Puck assured him that he was welcome, really.

"Finn's over all that stuff that went down in high school," he'd said, grinning. "And Connor thinks you're awesome."

He didn't know if  _awesome_  was really how Connor felt about him, but he'd always been nice to Dave, so he had to assume everything was okay between the two of them, or as okay as it could be between somebody's ex-boyfriend and his current one. Which is why Dave didn't expect what happened that November afternoon.

Admittedly, he probably wasn't meant to hear any of it. He was just sitting quietly in Connor's kitchen, filling in the Wednesday corner squares in his crossword, when there they were, Puck and Connor, right outside the doorway, tossing curses back and forth like they were softballs.

"You're fucking right I'm sick of it," Puck declared. "I just don't think I want to deal with it anymore."

"I don't blame you," Connor said. "He's kind of a prick, no matter how nice he seems. And so what if you've known him since high school?"

Puck snorted. "I barely know him at all."

Dave set his pen down, swallowing his discomfort. Puck probably wasn't talking about him. There were lots of guys he'd met in high school who were around now. Weren't there?

"Really, though, I don't think I can tell him that he's not welcome anymore. He  _has_  been nice to me."

Connor made a derisive sound. "Fuck that. There's a difference between  _nice_  and  _passive-aggressive._  He just doesn't have the courage to do what he thinks is the right thing. Or maybe he just thinks all the problems will solve themselves. You shouldn't have to deal with that, babe."

Dave tasted bitterness in his mouth at the sound of the endearment in Connor's voice, directed at Puck.  _He's mine,_  he thought, feeling unreasonably possessive.  _Not yours. You don't get to call him that anymore._

Puck sounded resigned. "Yeah, well, he won't have to worry anymore if I decide to close the school."

If he –  _what?_  Dave didn't think he could stay silent any longer, but then Connor slid open the back door and they walked out onto the back deck, leaving him alone in the kitchen. Dave stood, ready to follow them, then sat down again. He shouldn't have been eavesdropping. It was his own fault he heard Puck and Connor say – those things. He ran a hand over his head and tried to put it out of his mind, but he didn't make any more progress on his crossword, no matter how hard he concentrated.

By the time Puck came back inside, Dave had decided there was no way they'd been talking about him. Puck planted an absent kiss on his ear, and it was almost like nothing had happened.

"You about ready to go, babe?" he asked.

Dave folded his newspaper and pushed the chair out from the table. "Yeah, sure."

It wasn't until they were in the truck on the way back to Puck's house that he ventured to ask a question. It wasn't going to be the question he wanted to ask, so he chose something slightly less complicated. "How are things going at the dojo?"

Puck shrugged, his eyes on the road. "Fine, I guess. Same old same old. Why?"

"You think it'll be okay without you while we're at the Chicago conference next week?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, sure - Owen's got it covered. Connor'll come down from Columbus to help with the bigger classes, and then Thanksgiving's the week after that, and most of the families won't be around anyway." Puck snuck a glance at him. "Sound good?"

"Perfect." Dave clutched the crossword in his lap and made himself smile normally.

Puck didn't look convinced, though. "It... didn't seem like you were having much fun, hanging around at band rehearsal tonight."

All of the reasons Dave had thought of earlier that evening, enumerating why he enjoyed doing exactly that, had vanished from his head. He stared out the window. "Yeah, maybe not."

Puck opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a few moments, he tried again. "Uh. I just don't want you to waste your time if you don't want to be there."

Dave wavered between getting more pissed off and ignoring Puck, or getting more pissed off and saying something. In the end, he decided the former was safer. He could always bring it up tomorrow.

* * *

Dave's awareness of Puck's progress on his research progress had passed entirely beyond Dave's purview. He had to assume that the truth fell somewhere between what Puck told him ("It sucks, and I'm going to make a total fool of myself when I try to present at the conference, fuck you very much for asking") and what Elliott told him ("He's a freaking genius with numbers, but even though he's a good speaker in front of a crowd, he's got some kind of mental block about presenting").

But Dave hadn't heard much from either one of them over the past few weeks. He'd mostly tried to focus on his own classes and stay out of Puck's way. He didn't want Puck to think he didn't think he could do it, but mostly he was so grateful for Elliott taking on the role he was nervous about providing.  _It's better this way,_  he'd think, when he saw Puck on the phone with Elliott, and always carefully walked away so he wouldn't overhear them talking about their work.  _Because, really, I've had enough of overhearing._

He missed him, yeah, it was true. He missed talking math with Puck. Maybe a lot more than he'd expected, but he could handle it. Puck hadn't gone anywhere; he was just working with someone else. After this semester was over, they'd...

That was where his thinking usually ground to a halt. Dave had no frame of reference for what might happen after this semester was over. Right now, he and Puck had this math class together, three days a week. Once that had concluded... what would they be? Was there anything, after all, that they had in common? What reason would Puck have for wanting to see him at all?

Dave tried not to be overwhelmed by these fears as the conference drew nearer. Puck, meanwhile, just got more and more wound up about his presentation. Dave could tell he was struggling, but he figured a little stage fright wasn't going to kill him.

* * *

They took the train up to Chicago to the Hyatt Regency. It was nice to be within driving distance of a conference this time. Dave tried to get Puck interested in a chapter of The Mystery of the Aleph, but he couldn't even focus long enough to listen to Dave read half a page.

"I'm sorry, man," he said, rolling his eyes. "I can't stop thinking about standing in that room and talking about math to all those smart math people. They're going to know I'm just faking this, that I'm nothing but a fraud... Fuck, this is worse than when we went with Glee to Nationals."

"It's okay," said Dave. "All academics go through it."

"Yeah, but I'm not an academic." Puck shifted in his seat, then shifted back, drumming against his leg. "Can't we talk about something else? Please? I'm freaking out here."

Dave could see he was, but what else was there to talk about? In Dave's life, there was math, and there was... yeah. He scrambled for something that would be safe. "Uh. So - your cat."

"Penumbra?"

"Yeah, her. Or is she your sister's?"

"No, she's mine. Beth found her, out in the neighbor's garden, when she was three. She kept hearing baby kitten cries, on and off. When they got worse, Beth went looking. She was this tiny little thing, no mother, nobody to take care of her. Shelby's totally allergic, so I took her." He shrugged. He seemed calmer. "We had other cats when I was in elementary school and middle school, but it'd been a while since we'd had a cat in the house. But Penumbra never got over being scared of people. Me and Sarah are the only ones who ever get to see her." He smiled at Dave. "And you."

"Yeah, you said." Dave wondered if Penumbra would tolerate being in a house with another cat. Then he stiffened, realizing exactly what he was thinking.  _Yeah, like that won't freak him out. Asking him to move in with you? That's awfully... serious. Permanent, or at least long-term, and... okay, not thinking about it._

Dave was terrible at not thinking about things.

* * *

It was a little strange being at an academic conference with Puck there. Dave felt his worlds colliding – which was a strange thought in and of itself, considering Puck had  _been_  squarely in the center of his mathematical world for two months. He wasn't sure what was different until he introduced Puck to Vincent.

"This is your boyfriend!" Vincent put out his arms and gave Puck a huge grin, then hugged him. "Great to meet you finally."

"Hey, yeah," Puck said, looking only a little uncomfortable, and smiling back. "You're the one who's seeing Kurt?"

Dave wouldn't have brought it up, because who knew what was going on with Kurt and Vincent these weeks after they'd had their first date, but Vincent was still smiling beatifically. "Oh, yes," he said, his voice rich and satisfied. "Kurt Hummel. What a magical creature."

Puck glanced at Dave. "I like him," he murmured.

Vincent put an arm around Puck's shoulder and walked him away. "But, Puck – that's not why you're here. Your research! I've been reading what you've sent in, and it's fascinating stuff. Tell me a little about your project. I want to hear it in your words."

Dave listened with half an ear as Puck gamely discussed braids and tangles. He'd realized what the problem was. This was the first time anyone had made the connection, at least openly, between Dave-the-mathematician, and Dave-the-gay-man-with-the-hot-boyfriend. Was anyone else going to walk the short distance between those two points and realize that Puck was also his student? There were people from Ohio State there at the conference, though none of them besides Elliott were working directly with Puck, and Dave knew Elliott already knew. How much should he worry about this?

By the time Puck and Vincent were done with their conversation, Dave decided the answer would be  _rather a lot._  He pulled Vincent aside for a moment. "Uh, I need to ask you to keep my relationship with Puck between us. He's my student, you see, and I don't want to put my job at risk, or Puck's academic career. It's why Elliott's been advising him on his project instead of me. Conflict of interest, and all that?"

Vincent looked startled, but he nodded. "God, I never thought about that being a problem, but – I guess it would be, huh? Glad you mentioned something. Sure, I can keep it quiet." He grinned at Dave. "Boy, he's a lot cuter in person than he was in the pictures you showed me. Nice job, man."

Dave couldn't rid himself of his stupid grin or the blush for the next ten minutes.

* * *

Puck was scheduled to present on Saturday morning, which Dave thought was a lot of waiting to ask the poor undergrads to handle, but perhaps not all of them were as worried about it as Puck was. He didn't even want to get a drink after dinner. "You guys go ahead without me," Puck grimaced. "I'll try to get some sleep."

Though he thought it was possible that Puck really wouldn't want him waiting around the room with him, that it might make him feel more anxious, he thought it was more likely that Puck would actually prefer him to stay. Dave sat down on the second bed, the one they weren't going to use, and took off his shoes, trying to convey relaxed and casual. "I'm a little tired, too," he said. "I'll stay for a little while, if you don't mind."

Puck hesitated only a moment before he sat on the other side of the bed. He took Dave's hand and held it tight. "I don't mind," he said softly, giving him a smile. "Thanks."

That was really about all they needed for the hand-holding to turn into more active affection, because a grateful Puck was often motivated to thank Dave in creative ways. Dave figured reciprocating wasn't a bad way to get Puck to sleep, either. Sure enough, in less than an hour, Puck was sprawled naked on the bed, snoring lightly. Dave covered him with the awful hotel bedspread before putting his clothes back on and calling Vincent.

He got to witness Vincent talking on the phone with Kurt, which was truly amusing. Dave managed to keep his smile in check while the two of them discussed Kurt's latest script discovery. For a guy who liked to talk, Vincent was also an attentive listener, at least where Kurt was concerned.

"I won't stay out too late," Vincent promised him. "We're just getting a drink. Dave's here." He held the phone away from his mouth. "Kurt says hi. What's that? Oh, and he'll call you on Thursday as usual."

They said sweet goodbyes. Dave poked him in the shoulder. "Damn, you guys are really  _cute."_

"I know," Vincent agreed wholeheartedly. He didn't seem to mind this idea in the least, which was a relief. Kurt deserved a good dose of  _cute,_  and there weren't too many guys who could pull it off.

Puck was reasonably well-rested the next morning, and Dave made sure he had at least a little breakfast before the presentations were scheduled to begin. "You're not going to watch, are you?" begged Puck, reviewing his notes with Elliott.

"I'll be in the back," Dave said. "I promise I won't ask any questions or anything. I'll just be there, listening."

"Fuck." Puck mopped his forehead with a paper napkin. "I'm going to forget it all."

They apparently had decided not to bother with note cards, because Puck's memory was much better than his ability to read them aloud on the fly. Dave wished he could hold his hand, but there they were, in the middle of the restaurant, and he was here as Puck's math teacher. So all he did was watch them, and drink his coffee, and try to tell Puck with his eyes how much he believed in him.

The room was reasonably crowded, but Dave found a spot near the back where he could hide behind another convention-goer if he had to. There was a screen, and a digital projector, and a white board for examples.

Puck's presentation was third. Vincent began by introducing the research program with his usual enthusiasm and thanking all the undergraduates and their advisors for participating. Dave watched Puck, or what he could see of him from the back, which consisted of a shoulder and his left knee. That wasn't nervously bouncing or anything, so Dave figured that was a good sign. Dave was glad he'd made him pack that shirt, because it was just the right mix of casual and professional.

He watched the first two students, a girl with curly blonde hair and a boy with glasses, stumble nervously through their Powerpoint presentations, making the usual mistakes, but not doing too bad a job of it. But when Puck got up in front of the room, the energy in the room shifted. Puck managed to convey a sense of calm, even just while setting up his computer. He smiled, and spoke clearly, describing what he'd be talking about. Dave was captivated - or, rather, he thought he might have been anyway, even if he hadn't been so much in love with him already.

"A tangle is a similar concept to a knot," he began, "and tangles can be considered as parts of knots, but they're also interesting by themselves." He brought up an illustration of what looked like a lot of string inside a beach ball. "The key difference is that while a knot is a closed loop, a tangle involves open line segments - in this case, two." He pointed to the string. "To keep them under control, the end points have to stay attached to the boundary of this ball. When determining equivalence, the invariants are roughly the same as for knots, unchanged under Reidemeister moves, while the ends are nailed down."

Dave couldn't help thinking of what it was like to watch Puck teach martial arts at his school. But, really, this wasn't a whole lot like that. It was more like seeing him run through one of the katas, the routines they used in class to practice the building blocks of their style. He was fluid and unhesitating in his movements, each point clearly laid out, and delivered with effective pacing. Dave watched the rest of the audience, listening attentively, and he didn't think it was forced. Puck really was a good lecturer.

Not only that, but his content was interesting and pertinent. Dave didn't know how many boring, redundant lectures he'd sat through since he began college, but there had been plenty of them. If most professors knew half of what Puck seemed to know about teaching... Dave could imagine there might be a lot more  _learning_  going on at college.

"If we compare the tangle to a braid," Puck continued, and Dave smiled, thinking about their conversation about Sarah's hair, "the braid is simpler, because it doesn't allow self-crossing strands, so it can be generated by this small, systematic set of moves, creating a group structure."

As the lecture went on, Dave began to feel a fear coalesce inside him. It had been nibbling at him for weeks now, since Puck began to show interest in Dave's research, but now emerged to give him a big chomp on the leg.  _I'm the academic,_  said the fear.  _I'm the one who's got to go through the brutal job search process, interviews and presentations and speaking with departments all over the country. But what if... what if Puck wants that too? How could we ever expect to get a position in the same location? Would he choose a job over - me?_

Dave couldn't let it distract him from Puck's awesome presentation, but somehow the time got away from him, and before he knew it, Puck was asking for questions. He looked cool and confident, but Dave could guess what was going on under the surface. Dave had a moment of indecision where it looked like there might not be any questions, and he couldn't decide if it would be better for his to be the  _only_  question, or if he should continue trying not to draw attention to himself. But then one of Vincent's colleagues raised her hand, and when Puck responded with an informative answer, that spawned a few other questions, and everything was okay.

He took a deep breath. It was over, and he'd done just as great a job as Dave had expected him to do. Vincent looked like he might explode with excitement when he approached Puck afterward. He shook Puck's hand vigorously.

"We'll talk later about writing that up for publication," Vincent said. "I know just the journal to send it to."

Dave had no secret signal he could send that would convey  _no, don't talk to him about writing,_  but then he was kicking himself for not discussing that with Vincent earlier, because, really, he should have expected it. Across the room, Dave watched Puck's smile freeze with a sense of futility.

"I don't know, man," he started, but Vincent's enthusiasm would not be quashed.

"No buts," he chirped. "I'm going to make sure you get that line on your CV. You did a bang-up job."

Puck's head was shaking back and forth, and Dave could see the panic creeping over his hands. It was all he could do not to rush across the room and intervene, but he gripped the edge of his chair and told himself to stay put.  _Puck can handle this._

He stayed in the back as long as he could, watching Puck pack up his laptop as the next session began to set up. There seemed to be no end to the number of people who had questions or comments for Puck, and Dave considered slipping out the back, but he decided he really couldn't do that to him. He went up to the projector, disconnecting the power cable.

"Hey," he said casually, over his shoulder as he worked. "Where did Vincent say he wanted this?"

Puck didn't exactly relax, but he gravitated toward Dave, letting his back brush up against Dave's shoulder. "I think he's up on the eighth floor," he replied.

"Can you show me where?"

"Sure." Puck smiled at the two graduate students currently asking questions. "Can we finish this at the banquet tonight? I want to hear more about those fractions you are working on."

The elevator was crowded, but there was no one in the hallway on the eighth floor when they stepped off. Dave felt safe enough to give him a quick hug and kiss. "You did so well," he told him. Puck let the projector case drop to the floor, and he clung to Dave for just a moment.

"Yeah, but apparently it's not over," he muttered. "I thought this would be it. But it kind of never ends, does it?" He shuddered. "God, I don't think I could stand it."

"Publish or perish," Dave agreed. "The life of an academic. I think you have to love it to put up with it."

Puck took a step back as the elevator opened again and two people got off, disappearing down the hall, but as soon as they were out of sight, he moved right into Dave's arms again. "Well, there's no fucking way I'd deal with this all the time. I did it, and now I'm done, okay?"

Dave laughed. "Hey, it's not like jogging or something. If you don't like it, nobody's going to make you do it."

Puck's eyebrow went up. "Oh, yeah? You totally made me do  _this."_  He bent down and picked up the projector case, taking Dave's hand. "And now I'm going to relax and enjoy the rest of my vacation, and if Vincent says one fucking word about publishing or anything, I'm going to plug my ears and go la la la la. Got it?"

"Okay," Dave agreed, feeling bemused. They located Vincent's room and delivered the projector safely to Vincent's roommate. It wasn't until they were back in the elevator and Puck pushed the button for their own floor that Dave felt like he could ask for clarification.

"So... you don't think you'd want to do... this?" He made a gesture. "Being an academic. Going to school, studying the subjects you seem to love so much. It could be your life."

"Uh..." Puck stared at him, a little incredulous. "No. Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, it's not such a crazy idea. You did a great job with your presentation, and you're an excellent teacher." Dave avoided his stare, digging in his pocket for their room key. "You  _could."_

"Yeah, and I  _could_  shove bamboo splinters under my fingernails. It might be less tortuous." Puck snorted, shaking his head. "Fuck that. I'll leave the professional thinking to you. I'm perfectly happy beating up little kids all day and pretending to be a grown-up."

Dave leaned on the door frame, watching Puck push past him into the room, drop his laptop case against the wall and strip off his tie. He took a moment to breathe through the relief he felt, and the subsequent sense of gratitude.

"You coming in or what?" Puck called. "I'm not getting naked in here for my health, you know."

Dave smiled. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." He followed Puck into the room, and saw that he was actually...maybe not quite naked, but well on his way. "Wow, you're not wasting any time."

"What can I say? Pressure's off, and my hot boyfriend's been staring at me for the last forty-five minutes." Puck made short work of the buttons on his neatly pressed shirt, leaving it wadded in a ball on the floor, and took Dave's face in his hands for a kiss. "My turn to have some fun."

* * *

They said goodbye to Vincent in the lobby, Puck shaking his hand, Dave hugging him, both smiling at his gaudy soccer jersey. "You coming to visit Kurt sometime?" Puck said, surprising Dave. "'Cause I'm sure my kid would love to play a little one-on-one with you."

"Hey, sure," Vincent beamed. "I would love that, too. And you guys are always welcome to San Francisco. I have a guest room, and I'm within walking distance of a great Thai restaurant - not to mention there's a gay dance club around the corner."

"Oh - " said Dave, not quite sure how to say  _never, not in a million years, and thanks anyway,_ but Vincent was already grinning at Puck, and Puck was grinning back, and then they laughed.

"I can totally see why Kurt likes him," Puck told him after they boarded the train. "He's kind of extreme, in all directions? But really nice. Kurt needs a guy like that."

Dave took his hand. "You know, you really  _don't_  have to write a paper about your research. Or do anything you don't want to do. I don't want you to do it for Vincent, or for me. I want you to do it for  _you._ "

Puck stared out the window for a good three minutes before he cleared his throat. By then, Dave had just about forgotten what their conversation was about, but Puck apparently hadn't. He looked at Puck. "What is it?"

"I, uh..." Puck's face was red, and he wasn't looking back. Dave squeezed his hand.

"What?" Dave asked again.

"I  _want_  to do things. For you." He was barely audible.

"Oh." Now Dave got it. "Babe, that's fine, and... I love it, but something like this, the only reason it would make me happy is if it's something you need. And if it's just... awful, I wouldn't ever want you to do that just for me."

Puck shook his head. "You don't get it. I've never had anybody to  _do_  things for, before. Except Beth, and it's a little different. You make me want to... to try harder. To do more, to do  _better._  Things I never thought I could do before." He was squeezing Dave's hand hard enough to hurt now. "You make me feel like I can."

Dave ignored the pain in his hand and tried to squeeze back. "I know you can," he said. "But you can do so many things, you know? You can pick the ones that make you happy." He smiled. "Or me, I guess, if you want. But if it's not good for you, you shouldn't do it."

Puck nodded soberly, absorbing this. "Even if - if it's good for us?" He stretched his legs and sighed. "I don't always know what's good for  _me._  Seems easier to look at the big picture, sometimes, if I can't figure myself out."

"I know, babe," Dave said. "That's okay, too. If I think you're missing something important, I'll take care of that, and...we'll be fine."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud to announce the posting of our Kurt-OT3 Big Bang story tomorrow! It's titled Kiss Me I'm Drunk Don't Worry It's True, and we've been working on it all summer. You can find it at AO3 starting at midnight tonight, and it'll be posted on FFnet eventually. I hope those of you who are not put off by a little Kurt in your Puckofsky will give it a try. 
> 
> In the meantime, there will be one more chapter here after this one, and then an epilogue which falls after Kiss Me. Thank you for your fantastic feedback throughout this story - it's been a hell of a journey for us! 
> 
> Enjoy.  
> -amy

 

Of all the situations in which he ever thought he'd find himself, Dave figured being on a double date with Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman and a girl was one of the least likely. By now, though, he thought he and Finn might actually be good enough friends that he could believe it when Finn smiled big at him and told him he was glad to see him. Puck speculated it was so easy for Finn to forgive all the history between them because his memory was so bad. Regardless of why, Finn never brought it up, and seemed to have accepted Dave into their social circle.

Dave settled himself into the booth. "So you say Finn's been seeing this girl for a few weeks?"

"Yeah, since before we got Beth her bike." Puck grimaced. "But if you ask me, she's just another Rachel clone. He never got over letting her go to NYADA without him." He poured Dave a beer. "She's okay. He could do better."

Dave grinned, because it was the same thing Puck had said about his sister's last two dates. "You should just set him up with somebody good enough, huh?"

"Not sure they exist," Puck grinned back. It was the same way Dave felt about Kurt, so he got it.

Once he met the girl Finn brought with him, he had to agree. She had the same dark hair, the same chatty, exuberant manner he remembered from Rachel Berry in high school. Puck was polite, but largely ignored her in favor of talking about the conference and Beth.

"Shelby wants to take her to New York to see her sister," he said, making a face. "It'll be the third Thanksgiving in a row that she's been away. Kind of sucks, not to have a place to offer instead." He poked at his sandwich. "Maybe I could get Sarah to make a turkey."

"Hey, you could come over to our house for Thanksgiving!" Finn said, sounding excited. "My mom's cooking, and she makes the best sweet potatoes."

Finn's date took this opportunity to complain about how awful Thanksgiving would be with her crazy relatives (no two gay dads here, but apparently there were several cousins with mental disorders). It was several minutes later that Puck turned to Dave, a questioning look on his face.

"You want to?" he asked.

Dave thought about a room full of people he only kind of knew, and with whom he had a spotty past. He considered the experience of being there with the Hudson-Hummel family. He wondered what he would tell his own parents, if they even invited him for Thanksgiving dinner.

"You sure I'm welcome?" said Dave. "You do remember the stuff that happened with me and Kurt's dad."

Puck rolled his eyes. "That was, like, a decade ago. You think a US Congressman cares about a couple stupid arguments his kid had in high school?"

It sounded like the same argument Puck had made about Finn forgiving him, water under the bridge and all that, but things with Kurt had gone pretty far beyond throwing slushies and calling names in the hallway. And he guessed Mr. Hummel had a better memory than Finn did. Dave shrugged. "Maybe not. I just don't know if he'd really be comfortable with me there, and Kurt might tell me it was okay, even if it wasn't."

"Kurt would totally love it," Finn assured him, crunching up a tortilla chip. "And it's just as much my house as it is his. I'm inviting you."

It was a tempting offer. Really, he'd say yes to almost anything just so when his dad called, trying to pretend that both he and mom would love to see him, he could say no without hearing any pity about being all alone on the holiday. "Thank you," he said. "I'd like that. If everyone thinks it's okay."

Dave had already forgotten Finn's date's name by the time they parked the truck in Puck's driveway. He was too caught up in his thoughts about Thanksgiving to notice Puck's hesitation as they went up the sidewalk to the house. But before they got through the door, Puck stopped him.

"My Ma's home tonight," he said, sounding agitated. He gestured at the front window which looked into their dining room. "And, uh, I'm pretty sure she's already drunk, judging by the number of bottles on the table."

Dave nodded. "Would it be better if I went somewhere else?" He wondered what would happen if he showed up at his parents' house. He hadn't spoken to them all semester; he doubted they even knew he had been in town at all. But Puck shook his head.

"It's not like you'd be a surprise," he said. "She knows I'm... where I stay, most nights." But he still seemed reluctant. Dave could guess why, so he let Puck lead the way into the house.

On the Wednesdays when Puck didn't have seminar with Elliott the next morning, they usually spent the night at Puck's house, but this was the first time Puck's Ma had been home at the same time Dave had been there. He tried not to expect much, but when Puck introduced her, she seemed both calm and relatively lucid.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Puckerman," Dave said, taking her offered hand.

"Call me Ruth," she replied. Her hand was loose and soft, and her gaze slid off him and back to the television before he could reply.

Puck looked like he couldn't wait to get out of the room. Dave followed him into the kitchen, and when he tried to take his hand, Puck shrugged it off.

"She's okay, man," Dave said. "This isn't a problem."

But Puck just shook his head and sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, it really is. I'm sick to fucking death of worrying about her, how she's going to be, if it's going to be a good day or a bad one. I just wish she could be my mom, and not this person who's living in my house, taking up space, needing me to take care of her and not giving us anything in return. I guess I should be grateful she's still working at all."

Dave nodded, staring unhappily at Puck's twitchy hands, gripping the counter, crossing in front of him, playing with the belt loop on his shorts. "I understand. My family, we've got our share of people who used alcohol to solve their problems."

Puck laughed bitterly. "I don't think she's trying to solve anything. It's just what she does. She works forty hours and comes home to a couple glasses of whatever's handy to blot it all out. Then she gets up ten hours later and does it all over again." A flicker of pain crossed his face. "I just keep running through all the things that might fix it... maybe if she quit her job... maybe if she had a husband... maybe if  _we_  weren't around..."

Dave gave up trying to give Puck the distance he was striving for. He moved in right against Puck's side and put a hand on his back. "You're not the problem," he said. "Don't even think that. You can't fix this for her."

He could hear the unspoken question that followed:  _If I can't, who can?_

* * *

Puck went to bed early, and Puck's Ma passed out on the easy chair. That left Dave and Sarah on the couch, watching the Late Show with half an ear while Sarah finished her homework. Dave peeked over at the book she was reading. There were multiple sticky notes protruding from the pages. He was reminded of Vincent's graph structure, and grinned. "What's that?"

"Madame Bovary," Sarah said, like she might say  _capital punishment._ "I'm almost done."

"I had to read that for senior English." He'd liked it, but most of the rest of the class had complained about how slow-moving it had been. Dave didn't mind moving slowly.

Sarah folded down the corner on her page. "I'm trying not to get senioritis."

"Uh, aren't you a junior?"

"Exactly." She set the book down on the table. "Hang on, I have to get Ma to bed. She's supposed to take her medication at eleven."

Dave was almost ready to ask the question after Sarah came back without her mother. She folded herself back into the opposite corner of the couch, and he waited for a few more minutes before taking the plunge. "So... you guys kind of take care of your mom, huh? I mean, she seems like she needs... a little help."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You could say that. We do the best we can. Some days are better than others."

Dave nodded. "Yeah, it's always like that, I guess." He remembered what it was like living with his own mother, not that she'd ever have admitted to needing any kind of help - that was for everybody else - but there had definitely been bad days and good days, and he'd hated the unpredictable pattern more than anything.

She blew out a breath. "Sometimes I think she could have a lot more control over her drinking if we just stopped taking care of her. What's that called? Enabling? Whatever. She's totally a mess, and we kind of let her be that way, because it's easier than dealing with what would happen if we made her stop."

"No. Yeah, I get that." Dave waited a few seconds again, not sure if he should really say anything or not. "I don't think it's wrong, if it makes it easier for you, for a year or two. You won't be here forever, anyway."

"I know it's going to suck when I leave. There's no way I'm going to stay in Ohio for college." She glared at the coffee table. "Mostly I'm just trying not to think about it. Not very grown-up of me, I guess."

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you're a junior. You're not supposed to be that grown-up."

"Hey, it was me or nobody. What, you think  _Noah_  was going to be the grown-up?" She snorted a laugh. "He's a lot better since he became a father, but, trust me, I've been doing this since I was ten." She slouched into the couch. "It's hard enough dealing with Ma, but so much worse when I have to worry about other people doing it  _wrong."_

Dave wished he could tell her she didn't have to do it at all, but he knew that just wasn't the reality. Sometimes people had to do things, things they didn't want to do, just to get by. Then he thought maybe he shouldn't bring up... the thing he wanted to bring up, but it was already too much on his mind.

"Puck's been in Columbus a lot this semester." He watched her shrug in response, but she wasn't fooling anyone. Dave knew it mattered that he had been gone. "I'm... sorry about that."

"He's never been in love with anybody the way he loves you," Sarah replied.

Dave hadn't expected that response. It threw him off his rehearsed speech, and for a minute he just sat there, watching her in confusion. Finally he acknowledged what she'd said with a little nod. "You're very perceptive."

"He's my brother," she said, as if this explained anything. Dave didn't have any siblings, so he wasn't sure if this would be a universal experience or unique to Sarah and Puck. He nodded again. He had a sinking feeling that it really wasn't going to get any easier from here on out, so he just took a deep breath and forged ahead.

"So... uh, after this semester... I'm thinking about asking him to move in with me."

Sarah didn't look surprised or anything. She just sighed, shrinking down into herself, and nodded. Then she gave him a half-smile. "I guess I should be happy for him. If I met a guy as nice as you, I'd want Noah to want me to have that. I wouldn't want him to tell me to stay home with him and take care of our drunk Ma."

"I'm sure he doesn't want you to do that, either," said Dave. Sarah gave him a look.

"Yeah? I think that's pretty much what he's expecting me to do right now. Sorry, Dave, but it's the truth."

They sat together in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, not really looking at each other. Dave was pretty sure it was an example of thing that Puck called  _overstepping,_  but he reached out and put a hand on top of hers. It was so much smaller than his that you couldn't see her hand at all underneath. She glanced at him in surprise.

"That's really not okay," he said quietly. "I guess you know that already. And if nobody else is going to help you take care of your mom, Puck and I still aren't going to leave you to do it alone."

Sarah didn't look angry, as he'd feared; nor did she pull away. She left her hand under his, to be covered, and blinked rapidly. "I don't know what else to do, other than what I'm already doing."

"Well." Dave took a deep breath. "Your mom's a nurse at St. Rita's, right?" Sarah nodded. "You think she'd consider going through the detox program they offer?"

"Doubt it," she said. "She'd have to admit she had a problem first, right? I don't think she's ever going to do that."

Dave nodded. He had pretty much expected that, especially considering it would also require her to come clean about her addiction at her workplace, which might be even harder - though he assumed they already knew, on some level. "And you don't have any other relatives who could help?"

She shook her head. "Nobody who'd come to Lima. Not for her."

Dave sighed. He knew that, really, and in the end he thought it was probably the right choice, but Sarah being there changed things. "How about for you?" he asked.

She looked a little startled by the question, and shrugged. "I - I don't even know. I haven't really asked. It's always just been me and Noah and Ma, since my Nana died. But I have some aunts near Dayton. They kind of hate my Ma, but they've always been nice to me." She extracted her hand from under Dave's and worried the skin on the backs of her knuckles. "I figured two more years wasn't so long to wait until I could just take off and never come back."

"Two years is a long time to keep doing this," Dave said. "I don't think Puck would be okay with that." He paused. "I'm not okay with that." He knew it wasn't really up to him, but he was involved now, if he was asking Puck to move in with him, and...he could try, anyway.

Sarah was nodding, staring at her hands. "I guess I'm not so okay with it, either." Then she turned to Dave, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him on the cheek. She gazed at him fiercely. "You're really good for Noah. I just wanted you to know that I see that."

* * *

Dave was trying not to be irritated about his day, but it wasn't working very well. There were no fewer than four students using the dead grandmother excuse for not wanting to take their final exam. Dave's colleagues had warned him to include the phrase  _all students must take the final exam or get an incomplete_ in his syllabus, but he'd thought it was too punitive. Now he wished he'd listened. He really didn't want to be grading exams during Christmas vacation.

Before that, though, came Thanksgiving vacation, and he had no idea what that was going to be like, spending Thanksgiving with Puck and Kurt and Mr. Hummel and Finn's mother and what felt like half of Lima. He went back and forth between hoping it would just hurry up and be here so he could get it over with, and wishing he'd never agreed to Finn's offer.

And here he was, turning a family vacation that was supposed to be pleasant and meaningful into a hell of a mess. He couldn't blame any of it on Puck; there wasn't anything he could do about it, either. He sighed sharply and tossed his notebook on the table. Puck looked up from where he was hunched over the books for the dojo.

"You done?" Puck said, his voice mild, but he was watching Dave closely.

"Yeah. I mean, no. I've got another hour's work to do, but... no, I'm really done." He held out his hands, warding the responsibility of teaching away for one evening. "Let's go to bed."

Puck didn't move. "You've got something going on, here?"

"Writing my final exam, and dealing with irresponsible, dishonest undergrads. You're not going to tell me your grandmother died, too, are you?"

He snorted. "Even if I could resurrect my Nana, I wouldn't try that excuse. I'm gonna fucking ace your final."

Dave had no doubt Puck would, and with Elliott grading Puck's exam for him, he knew it would be done fairly. He rested his empty hand on the edge of the couch, picking at the upholstery with one fingernail.

"So..." Puck leaned on both knees, setting his book on the table next to Dave's. "What else is going on?"

Dave closed his eyes. "I..." There was no way he could say  _it's nothing._  Puck knew him too well by now. They were practically living together, for god's sake. He shook his head. "I'm... kind of freaking out about Thanksgiving."

"Oh." He sounded a little surprised, as though he'd expected to hear Dave say something else, but he nodded, listening. "Okay, yeah, I can understand that. But - really, Finn's mom, she's awesome. Mr. Hummel's a little scary, but seriously, he's not going to freak out about the gay thing, because, dude, Kurt." Puck paused, tilting his head. "Hey, is Kurt going to be there?"

"Yeah, he's bringing Vincent." Dave watched Puck's face brighten, then, as he saw Dave's unresponsive expression, withdraw into wary concern.

"That... that's good, right?"

"Yeah." Dave heard his own apathy, and he laughed at himself. "Yes. It is. It'll be good to see him, of course, and... and everything seems to be fine, between us?" He shrugged.

"So that's not it," Puck said slowly. "Uh... I know you kind of hate it when I ask this, but... it wasn't something I did, was it?"

Dave picked up his hand and squeezed it. "No. You didn't do anything."

He watched Dave for a few more seconds, but when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, he sighed in frustration before standing up and dropping Dave's hand. "Okay, then... I guess you'll have to fill me in when you figure it out, then, because I'm not really up for twenty questions, here."

Dave wanted to pull Puck back onto the couch, to hold him and convince him without words that everything was okay, but he didn't think he could convince even himself of that. There was too much hovering in the air between them, and too much they'd already said to let this thing go unspoken.

"I have to tell you about something," he said haltingly.

Puck stopped on his way toward the stairs, still facing away from Dave.

"Okay," he said. He glanced back over his shoulder with an uneasy frown. "You gonna tell me now, or am I going to have to sit here for another half hour while you figure out what to say?"

Dave indicated the spot on the couch next to him. "Come here." He wasn't sure how he was going to tell Puck about this without some kind of visual aid, because the words alone sure as hell weren't going to make any sense. He opened his laptop, trying to keep his breathing steady. "You remember I told you how things were for me, back before we started dating? How I'd been trying to figure myself out in college, but mostly just... kind of hiding, and not really doing a very good job of being anybody I could be proud of?"

Puck looked like he wanted to protest Dave's words, but he closed his mouth on his reply, and just nodded.

"Yeah. Well... I did something, over the summer. Something I don't... do. But I did, and it turned out to really, seriously be a bad idea." He took another deep breath, opening the directory he'd kept hidden even from himself, pausing over one of the icons. "In at least one way, though, I guess it was really important, too."

"Dave," Puck said, sounding a little impatient, "can't you be a little more specific? I'm feeling like I'm looking at one of those surreal paintings with melting clocks or something, trying to figure out what it all  _means."_

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry for that."  _And for this. Just... don't hate me, okay?_  He double-clicked on the icon, and the screen filled with a familiar artsy, black and white photo of a man's bare back, bowed under some unknown weight. Only now, the weight was well known to both of them. Puck stared at the image of himself.

"What... the  _fuck,_  Dave?" he breathed, reaching out to touch the screen. "Where did you get this?"

He swallowed hard. "I responded to your personal ad. You had them on that web site... only I didn't know it was you. And once I got there and realized it was  _you_ , Puck... I couldn't do it. I couldn't go through with it." He reached forward and closed the lid of the laptop with a  _snap,_  shaking a little. "I'm so sorry."

"That... the guy I was supposed to meet in the bar," Puck said. His voice sounded peculiar and flat. "That was you. I mean... that  _was_  you?" He watched Dave until he nodded, reluctantly, then he leaned back with a sigh. "Fuck. I always assumed the guy didn't show because I'd said something wrong. I don't always come off so good in print."

Dave shook his head, incredulous. "You - no! You didn't do anything." He ran a hand over Puck's head, fingers tracing the scar. "I saw you there, at the bar, and... I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized you before. I don't know. All I could think was,  _he can't see me this way."_  He forced himself not to pull away when Puck slipped an arm around him.

"That totally doesn't make any sense, babe," Puck murmured, brushing his lips against Dave's neck, "considering I'm the one who put those pictures out there for somebody to find. And I answered your request, right?"

"I know." Dave sighed again, but this time it was less about regret and more about relief. He'd told Puck the truth, and Puck hadn't left. Puck was still here, still apparently wanting to be in the same room with him, not acting appalled or disgusted or... anything. "But I'm the one who went looking for you, even though I'm not that guy, really. I don't think it would have mattered as much if it hadn't been you, but... it was. And it did."

Dave wasn't even sure how he could explain who Middle School Puck had become in his closeted, lonely imagination, or how much better the reality of Puck was, but Puck was leaning in, kissing him gently, and he decided it didn't matter.

Puck rested his head on Dave's chest. "You know, I wish I could say that I went home, all dejected, after you stood me up. But I ended up going home with some random guy from the bar."

Dave clenched his teeth against the pointless surge of fury that erupted at the mention of Puck thinking, yet again, he wasn't good enough for anything more than another meaningless hookup. That had been a long time ago. It wasn't like that anymore. Dave wouldn't let it be. He kissed Puck's head and said, as gently as he could, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was a hell of a lot more depressing than going home alone would have been." He glanced up at Dave, somewhat sheepishly. "I - won't ever do that again. Okay?"

"Okay," Dave agreed. "Sounds like a plan."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to post everything we had in one chapter, but I decided the dinner math needed its own chapter. There'll be one more short chapter after this, followed by an epilogue. We were kind of relieved that this chapter was as low on angst as it was, and that they were able to resolve some of the concerns that had been lurking.
> 
> I imagine it's no secret by now that I am a hopeless romantic, and all I really want is for these guys to be happy. It just needs to happen in the right way. We hope you will agree this is a good start.
> 
> -amy

 

Dave noticed Puck was picking up the book about Cantor less and less. He eyed it lying unopened on the nightstand several evenings in a row before he tucked it under his arm and brought it downstairs, placing it on the coffee table, where Puck couldn't miss it. Puck didn't.

"Hey," he said, nudging the book with his foot. He glanced at Dave, looking mildly uncomfortable.

"I thought we'd read a chapter or two tonight," Dave said. He settled into the couch, his hands on his knees, and waited for Pascal to make the leap from the bookshelf to the space next to him. "Unless you're sick of it."

"Not sick of it," Puck assured him, and paused only a moment before picking up the book. "I, uh, love it when you read to me."

"Okay," said Dave, nodding. "So what is it?"

Puck sat there staring at the book, his shoulders hunched. "It's just that... everybody in here, all these European guys, they made something of themselves. Did stuff with their math, wrote all these long papers and... stuff." He gestured in irritation. "I don't know what I'm saying."

Dave nodded again. He placed a hand on his back, waiting, while Puck sat with his thoughts.

"You could do that," said Dave, eventually.

Puck laughed unhappily. "Uh,  _no,_  I couldn't. I'd suck at it. You saw me at the Chicago conference. I was a fucking mess, thinking about writing all that shit down." He shuddered. "I can't imagine having to do that all the time. You - what you're doing, Dave, at the university, writing grants, publishing - it would drive me fucking bugnuts."

Dave felt something inside him ease, even as he soothed Puck, rubbing small circles on his back. "I think you're right," he agreed. "I don't think that would make you happy."

"Yeah, so... why am I even bothering?"

"Bothering what? Taking my class? Reading about math, working through things on your own? Can't it just be for you?"

Puck shrugged. "I guess. Seems kind of pointless." He rested the book on the table, letting his head hang. "Fuck. I can't even do  _this_  right."

Dave sighed. "Okay. You know what? Come here." He put an arm around Puck's waist and pulled him back onto the couch, so he rested between Dave's legs against his chest. Puck went willingly, his tense posture relaxing as he sighed against him. "You're freaking out, and I'm not sure about what, but I don't think it's math."

"Maybe," Puck mumbled.

Dave reached out and managed to snag the book with one hand without dislodging Puck, and leafed through until he found the turned-down corner of the page where they'd stopped. He started reading. After a few minutes, Pascal climbed on top of Puck's back and kneaded himself a nest between his shoulder blades, settling into a tiny ball while Dave read aloud about Karl Weierstrass.

Weierstrass was some kind of genius, but he was athletic and outgoing, more interested in fencing and drinking with his friends than the accounting he was meant to study. He left college after four years without a degree, a disappointment to the family. Dave read about how Weierstrass gave up on academics and decided to train as a teacher instead. He spent years working by himself in his small village, solving problems in mathematics that no one else had managed, without any input from the academic community. He didn't even stop to publish any of his work until it was complete.

"Weierstrass," Dave said, setting the book down for a minute, resting his hand. Puck turned his head to look at Dave. "His professor wanted to stop him from teaching, because he thought it would be a waste of that brain."

"Yeah." Puck shifted, and Pascal climbed down to fill the warm spot where he'd been lying on Dave's chest. "When they gave him an honorary doctorate after he published his work, and he moved to Berlin... that kind of pisses me off. I mean, maybe he just wanted to stay in his little town and do what he was doing."

Dave considered Puck. "Have  _you_  ever thought about teaching math?" he asked. "I mean, high school or something?"

"Me?" Puck looked startled. Dave nodded.

"When you were giving your presentation at the Chicago conference, you were really good. You held the audience's interest; you didn't seem nervous or anything."

"No," Puck agreed. "I like that part. Talking in front of a group, that doesn't bother me."

"It's more than that, though. Your kids at the dojo, they listen to you. You teach them more than just karate. Can't you imagine that teaching math could be like that, too?"

Dave wasn't sure if he should mention all the ways that Weierstrass's story reminded him of Puck's - coming from a working class background, his diverse interests, the way he figured things out all by himself - but Puck was nodding slowly, thinking it through.

"You have some general coursework done, right?" Dave went on. "You could apply that toward a teaching degree. I'm sure Elliott would walk you through the steps if you wanted to know what specific classes you'd need, and find you an advisor in the education department." He watched Puck carefully, not wanting to push too hard. "Babe, just so we're clear... I'm not saying you should do this for me, okay?"

"No, I get that," Puck said. He sighed. Dave felt the motion of his body on top of him, and held him closer. "I think you'd have to convince me I could actually handle the classes. That's a lot of reading."

"You could get through it," Dave said. "I'd help you."

The silence that followed was heavy with questions that neither of them had brought up. Dave thought, not for the first time, of the conversation he'd overheard with Puck and Connor at their band rehearsal.  _Why would you want to close your school?_  he wanted to ask.  _What are we going to do after this semester is over? What's going to happen with us?_

Neither of them brought up any of those questions now, either, but Dave guessed Puck knew some of what was going through Dave's head, because he sighed again. Then he kissed Dave before stretching and standing up. His mouth wasn't smiling, but his eyes were, even though they were also little bit sad. "I'll think about it. And thanks for reading to me. Really."

* * *

Dave had been taught, somewhere in the morass of awkward parenting he'd received, that you never show up at someone's house empty-handed. Puck didn't seem to understand this at all.

"Dude, I've been going to Finn's house since I was eight," he said, wrinkling his brow, "and the best thing I ever brought with me was a pizza."

"Well, I was never a good enough friend to get invited to Finn's house when we were kids, even when we were speaking to each other without yelling," said Dave, sliding the bottle of wine into a paper bag. "I'm not going to treat this like a fast food delivery."

"It's just  _Finn."_  Puck looked downright uncomfortable. Dave wished he could make light of it, but it didn't feel like a small thing, coming to Finn's house with everyone there.

And it really was  _everyone._  After all the complaining Puck did to Shelby about Beth being gone for Thanksgiving yet again, she decided to stay in town. Once he found out about it, Uncle Finn was quick to call and invite them, too, bringing the total to eleven.

"It would have been twelve," Finn explained, taking their coats, "but I broke up with Jenny."

"I'm sorry," Dave replied. He was a little relieved she wouldn't be there; at least now he didn't have to pretend to remember her name. Finn shrugged.

"No big. She wasn't interested in sticking around Lima anyway. I don't think a mechanic at Hudson-Hummel Tires and Lube was enough to get her to stay."

"She didn't laugh at your jokes, either." Dave turned to see Kurt smiling at them from the doorway, and he smiled back as he accepted Kurt's hug. "And Puck tells me she had absolutely no taste in music."

"She didn't!" Puck assured him. He leaned against the hall closet door, crossing his arms in indignation. "She thought our band was playing, like, Whitesnake or some shit. She couldn't even keep a  _beat."_

"Well, then." Dave grinned down at Kurt. "No sense in even bothering, then. Where's Vincent?"

"Helping Carole mash the potatoes." Kurt's eyes went dreamy and far away. Puck barely suppressed his snicker. "He's a much better cook than he lets on."

Shelby and Beth were already there, too. Beth had Finn cutting a hole in a giant cardboard box with a utility knife while she waited anxiously, hopping from foot to foot and shouting commands: "Make it  _pointed_  at the top, Uncle Finn! No, like a  _rocket ship,_  not a triangle. Hi, Dave. And give it rays, like a sun. Lots of them."

Mr. Hummel looked like he might be staying out of the way, seated on the couch in the corner of the family room, focused on the television. Dave attempted to escape his notice as long as he could, but he knew it was pointless, since they'd eventually be seated at the dining room table together. He tried to smile as Mr. Hummel approached him.

"David," he said.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Hummel," Dave replied, shaking his hand. "Thank you for having us over."

"Yeah, well, apparently Finn has decided to invite everybody and their boyfriend to my house this year," he said, frowning. "Something about me having the biggest oven."

"No, it's because you have three bathrooms and Finn only has one," Kurt corrected, kissing his dad's cheek. Mr. Hummel turned his glare on Kurt. Dave had the weird feeling that this glare was a kind of affectionate expression. He let his shoulders relax a little.

Mr. Hummel jerked his thumb at the kitchen. "And now  _Kurt's_ boyfriend is in there, charming the pants off my wife and taking over the only thing I'm qualified to do in the kitchen at Thanksgiving, which is mash the potatoes." He shrugged. "So, hey. I'm watching the game. Want to join me, David?"

"Sure," said Dave.

It was only a little strange to sit on the couch next to Mr. Hummel and share his olive and pickle tray while trading comments about the Lions and the Texans. Kurt's smile made it so worth it. He disdained to watch the game, but he sat nearby, reading a manuscript, making occasional furious scribbles with his red pen.

Eventually Vincent came out of the kitchen to beam at Kurt, leaning down over the back of the chair to kiss him. Mr. Hummel pointedly ignored this.

"Carole said the turkey will be ready to carve in about twenty minutes," he said. "We should set the - Dave! How long have you been here?"

"Since you started mashing the potatoes," Kurt said, nudging Vincent with the heel of his hand. "Seriously, you have remarkably singular focus."

Vincent came over and hugged Dave with his usual enthusiasm. "I brought something," he whispered conspiratorially. "A math activity for the whole group. You're going to  _love_  it."

They all rose to help set the table as Puck emerged from the basement with Finn, Beth and Shelby. The others seemed to be bickering about a game of Apples to Apples, but Puck was strangely subdued. Dave pulled him aside.

"What's going on, babe?" he asked.

Puck shifted his gaze from the door to the table. "It's Ma," he said in a low voice. "She'll be here soon, coming off her shift. She'd originally said she couldn't make it, but Sarah talked her into it."

Dave nodded. "You wish she hadn't?"

"Fuck, yeah," he said testily. "Seriously, I think I wish  _we_  would have just stayed home."

Dave tried not to feel a little twinge at the word  _home,_ and was about to pull him into a hug when he thought better of it. Puck's family - his  _real_  family - was here, watching. Maybe Puck wouldn't want to do that in front of them. So Dave just stared at Puck, his hands twitching to hold him, and eventually Puck moved away.

Puck's Ma and Sarah arrived while Mrs. Hudson was bringing out the turkey. Dave saw the tired expression on Ruth's face, and the strain on Sarah's, and sat on his hands while Puck's tension level went up at least twenty percent.

"Sorry to be so late," Ruth said, as Finn took her coat. "It smells amazing."

Sarah ended up wedged next to Dave, and he passed her the bowl of stuffing, wondering what might be appropriate to say. Beth sat on the other side of Sarah. She apparently had no compunction about not talking, nattering on about the musical instrument she'd created for her school science fair project, and the kid on her hockey team who threw up right on the blue line at practice. Sarah let her fill the silence, giving her a watery smile, and filled her plate with food she didn't eat as the dishes of turkey and mashed potatoes circled the table.

There were plenty of other conversations going on, but it was hard for Dave to pay attention to any of them with all the voices competing for airspace. It made his head hurt to have so many people talking at once. Puck was having a quiet and very civil argument with Shelby about something, but Dave wasn't quite sure what the topic was until he heard the phrase  _parent-teacher conference._

"I can go," Puck was saying with an obstinate frown as he took another helping of sweet potatoes. "You don't have to reschedule your appointment."

"You're teaching," Shelby said, shaking her head. "Don't be an idiot. A whole class of martial arts students trumps one annoyed second-grade teacher who wants to make us do it on  _that_  day."

"No, I'll have said goodbye to nearly all the classes by then. Owen's taking the senior student class, and the others' last sessions are next week. I -" He clearly had more to say, but when Puck realized Dave was listening, he closed his mouth and stared at his plate.

"What?" Dave asked, but Puck gave him a little shake of his head.

This pissed Dave off. It wasn't like he could deal with it right in the middle of the Hudson-Hummel Thanksgiving dinner, and damn Puck for making him hear that conversation. He tried another bite of turkey. It was excellent, but he just couldn't sit there and pretend he belonged at that table any longer.

"Excuse me," Dave muttered, pushing out his chair. Puck didn't watch him leave.

Dave considered going out to sit on the front porch, but it was almost freezing outside, and it would have been a damp, uncomfortable place to be. He ended up taking a seat on the wooden stairs leading to the basement. It was just about as lonesome and stark a place as he needed at that moment. He had to roll his own eyes at himself, at how melodramatic that sounded.

Then a pair of large sneakers appeared on the step beside him, and he glanced up in surprise to see Finn.

"Hey," Finn said, sitting down beside him. There was barely enough room for both of them on the step, but Dave moved over a little, and they managed. "You're not going to miss pie, are you? 'Cause my mom makes awesome pie."

"I don't know. Maybe." Dave watched him warily.

Finn shook his head, looking sad. "Is it Puck's Ma? She's sober today, at least. I thought that was a good sign."

Dave hadn't even said one word to her since she'd arrived, other than  _pass the gravy._  "No. She's fine. She's never been anything but nice to me, actually."

"Yeah, Puck's kind of sensitive about her moods, but she's always been nice to me, too." Finn paused, then added, "I guess there's stuff you never see, unless you're living with a person. Things they don't show anybody else."

Dave nodded slowly, taking this in. "I... yeah. That's true."

Finn squinted at the wall. "Hey, Vincent's great. Kurt's totally crazy about him, I can tell."

"Yeah, they're a good match. Kurt needs somebody like him: smart and romantic and a little goofy."

Finn laughed. "I thought, for a while, Kurt wasn't going to find anybody out there in California who understood him, who liked him the way he is. He was just going through the motions of being happy, but..." He shrugged. "A career can only take you so far, you know?"

"I know," Dave agreed.

"Yeah. So I'm really glad for him. I mean, even though my family's kind of big and loud and crazy, I love them a lot, and... I think Vincent fits in just fine, don't you?"

Dave grinned. Finn was getting better at being subtle. "You know he's originally from Ohio, too, right?"

"No kidding," Finn said, grinning back. "I don't think he's looking at moving back any time soon, though."

"Definitely not." Dave's smile slipped a little at the mention of  _moving._  He hesitated, but really, if there was anybody who might understand, it was probably Puck's oldest friend. "I'm worried about Sarah, dealing with their mom, in that house all by herself."

"Because Puck's moving to Columbus." Finn didn't look at all surprised.

Dave shook his head. "How did you know I was going to ask him? I haven't even talked to  _him_  about it yet."

Now Finn did look surprised. "You? Puck told me it was something he hadn't talked to  _you_  about yet. Said he didn't want you to freak out."

"What? He didn't want me to..." Dave paused, his mind racing. "Are you talking about the stuff about him closing his dojo?"

Finn nodded. "He told me about what happened with Dayna and Hank last month, how they freaked out about him being, uh, with a guy. Said he'd rather hand off his students to someone else and go teach at Connor's dojo instead. He's always wanted to get out of Lima, anyway. His ideas are bigger than this little town."

Dave thought about Karl Weierstrass and had to smile. "Well, really, it's not like Columbus is all that much bigger than Lima. It's not like it's... Berlin, or anything."

"What?"

"Nothing. It'd be a step. Did you... did he say anything about where he might be planning to live? In Columbus?"

Finn raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think you should be talking to  _him_  about this?"

"I should, but... if he's already planning to move to Columbus, even without talking to  _me,_  that means he's already thought about leaving Sarah and his mom alone."

Finn gave a little half-shrug. "He might have said something to me about it."

On top of the adrenaline prompted by this new information, Dave suddenly felt ridiculously proud of Puck for dealing with all of this on his own. "And?"

"And I said Sarah could come hang out with Uncle Finn and Grandpa Burt at the garage any time she wanted. If they need money without Puck, we could probably manage to give her a job doing oil and filter changes."

Dave hadn't ever felt like hugging Finn more than he did at that moment, but he managed to keep it to a smile. "That's just... awesome of you, man."

"Yeah, well, Puck's basically my brother." Finn smiled back. "I'd do more than this to help him out, if he asked. He should be happy, and I don't think he's ever been this happy before."

Dave thought about how Sarah had said something similar to him. He supposed that when people cared about you, your happiness was important to them, even if it meant they had to go out of their way to make sure you got it. He cleared his throat. "You, uh... you know he makes me really happy, too."

"I figured," Finn agreed quietly.

They sat there for a few more seconds before Finn got to his feet and took a few steps up the staircase. He glanced back at Dave. "So, I'll save you some pie, huh?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. I just need a minute."

"No problem, dude. You come find him whenever you're ready." Finn smiled. "Happy Thanksgiving, Dave."

"Happy Thanksgiving."

After that, the whole huge, loud family upstairs didn't seem any less intimidating, but Dave thought he might be able to handle it well enough to get through the rest of dinner when a small, blonde head appeared around the door frame at the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Dave!" Beth stared at him. "Why are you sitting in the basement?"

"I needed a quiet place to think. But I'm done, now. Did you have a good dinner?"

She climbed down to sit next to him, right where Finn had been sitting a few minutes ago. "I didn't like the green beans. Everything else was good, though."

He grinned. "Aren't you missing dessert?"

"Not yet. Vincent said he wants to do this thing, where we all have to stand up and go out of the room, and there are cards with our names on them. He needs you to come back, so I said I'd come get you." She cocked her head. "Are you and my dad having a fight?"

"What? No!" Dave sat back, assessing her solemn face. "No, we're not. We're... well, he's thinking about... uh..."

"It is because he's not gonna be my sensei anymore?"

"He... he's not?" Dave felt like he'd been half a step behind on every conversation tonight.

"No, Sensei Owen's going to teach us. It's okay, I like him, but he's not as good as my dad." Beth leaned her sharp little elbow on Dave's thigh. "Aunt Sarah told me you want my dad to move in with you. She told me not to say anything, so don't tell her I told you, okay?"

Dave weighed the value of giving Beth a lecture on integrity, but decided it was more important in this moment to just listen to what she had to say. "Okay. What do you think about that idea?"

She considered it. "Could we still ride bikes together?"

"Definitely," he nodded. "And you could come stay with us sometimes, if you wanted."

"At your house?"

Dave swallowed, feeling like he might be getting ahead of himself. "If it were your dad's house, it would be kind of like your house, too." His current house was definitely too small for three people, but they could always rent a bigger one. He let himself dwell on the terrifying idea of a little room for Beth for a few moments before smiling at her. "I'll have to talk to your dad, first. I don't even know if he wants to move in with me."

"Of course he does," she scoffed. "He loves you."

He felt himself melt in the face of that frank statement. So what if his smile was a little goofy? Nobody was going to see it, after all. "I love him, too."

"Yeah." She took his hand and tugged at it. "Come have pie now, okay?"

Dave took her hand, standing up. "Okay. Pie it is."

Puck intercepted them on their way back to the dining room. He nodded at Beth. "Hey, squirt. Thanks for getting him to come upstairs. I'll meet you back in there, okay? Tell Grandpa Burt to hold off on the dessert for a few minutes. We won't be long."

"Hurry up, or we'll eat it all without you," she said, grinning at Dave, and vanished through the doorway.

Puck gave him a long, hard look. "You're not freaking out on me, are you?"

"No. Well, maybe, but I think Finn got me out of it." Dave shook his head. "Puck... you've been planning to move to Columbus? Without talking to me about it?"

Puck looked momentarily uncertain, but he nodded. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But I wanted to take care of the details before I told you. I didn't want you to think I was doing it for you."

"Oh." Dave felt uneasy. "You didn't... it's not for me?"

Puck squirmed a little. "Fuck, Dave, of course it's for you. I just didn't want you to think it was."

Dave was startled into a laugh. After a pause, Puck laughed, too. He touched Puck's arm. "Okay, I get that, but... babe, I was going to ask you the same thing. I've been trying to figure out how to bring it up. I wasn't sure you'd even want to."

Puck's face lit up in a smile that dug its way into Dave's chest and made a home there. "Yeah? I figured, if I got my own place, you wouldn't have to worry about feeling too crowded. I've got a lead on some houses in your neighborhood." He eyed Dave. "But you were going to ask me to... what? Move in with you?"

"Either that, or get a bigger place." He thought of Beth, and then of Puck's dream with the kids' bikes on the wall of the garage. "You know... maybe so we could have an extra room. Whatever."

Puck nodded, still smiling. "You don't think that would be too awful? Me, moving in with you? It's save rent, that's sure as shit."

Dave glanced at the vacant door to the dining room, then decided,  _what the hell._  He stepped into Puck's space, kissing him, and then held him tight. "You're practically living with me already. And if you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly been kicking you out the door."

"No." Puck sighed into his hug, and kissed the space behind Dave's ear. "You don't think we'd kill each other, huh?"

"I think my biggest problem would be keeping my hands off you," Dave murmured. "I overheard you and Connor, after band practice. Talking about closing the dojo."

"Oh," Puck said, startled. "That must have been a little while ago. Change in plans. Owen's taking over the business. I'll stay owner, but he'll manage the classes and the property, so that'll still make me a little money - a  _very_  little, assuming things go about the way they have been, but it's something. Connor says there's enough demand for teachers at his school that he can hire me as an instructor, and starting in January, I can begin my own classes."

Dave smiled at Puck's enthusiasm. "Sounds like you've got everything under control."

Puck smiled a little, looking pleased with himself. "I'm trying, you know, to make sure I didn't forget anything. There's a lot to think about, but, hey, I moved to Okinawa for a year. I can do this."

Dave couldn't help it, he had to kiss him again. "Babe, that's great," he said, still not letting Puck get very far away. "I mean. I don't want to push you. I know there's your family..." He looked towards the dining room again. "Sarah, but...I think Finn said something about keeping an eye on her?"

"Yeah." He grimaced. "I don't love the idea of leaving them alone with each other, but... it's going to have to happen sooner or later. Once Sarah graduates, I'm either going to have to give up on her, or make sure she's got a hell of a lot of people willing to help out. Finn, and Burt... they're top of my list."

"They're good people, I think." Dave held Puck a little tighter. "You're right, you know. It's going to have to happen eventually. And if you decide you're okay with that being now, or even if it's not..."

"No," he interrupted. "I... yeah, I want it now. Like, yesterday."

"Okay. Yeah." Dave didn't want to be selfish, but he had to admit, he agreed. "So. In that case...you could move in with me. I mean. I'm asking you. Because, I'd like that. If you want."

Puck's answer didn't involve any words, but Dave could tell it was an affirmative. It could have gone on like that for a while, too, if Kurt hadn't appeared in the door and cleared his throat.

"You're missing out on some classic family conversation. And pie. Didn't Beth come to  _find_  you?" He didn't really sound upset, though.

"She did. Sorry." Dave finally, reluctantly let go of Puck and started walking after Kurt, who took Dave's arm.

"Everything okay?" he asked, pleasantly enough, but his eyes looked concerned.

"More than okay," Dave replied. He felt echoes of the goofy smile he'd worn in front of Beth, but really, wearing it for Kurt, that wasn't a whole lot scarier. Right now, he felt practically invincible, like he could wear it in front of the whole math department and it wouldn't make a difference. "Puck said he'll move in with me. That he'll come to Columbus."

"Oh!" Kurt stopped, staring into his face, eyes wide. Then he hugged Dave hard. "Honey, that's  _wonderful._  I'm so happy for the two of you."

"Yeah," said Dave, hugging him back. "Me, too."

Vincent was explaining something to the whole group, and they were already starting to look a little politely bewildered. Each person was standing behind the chair they'd been sitting in for dinner. He felt another touch on his arm.

"I covered your plate and set it on the counter in the kitchen," Mrs. Hudson said quietly. Dave felt a grateful flush pass over his face.

"Thanks," he said. "It was really good." He wanted her to know that he hadn't left because of the food, but she seemed not to need any further explanation. She just nodded, giving his arm a little squeeze.

"Wait until you try the pie," she said.

"So let me get this straight," Mr. Hummel was asking. "We have to... go out of the room, and then come back one at a time?" Vincent nodded earnestly. Mr. Hummel indicated the table, where cards sat, face down, in front of each spot. "And then we, what, turn over some cards?"

"Half of them. Well, excepting me, because it should be an even number. Kurt didn't make a card for me."

Mr. Hummel swung his gaze to Kurt, who was smirking. "This is all your fault, huh?"

"I'm just aiding and abetting," Kurt affirmed coolly, slipping a hand into Vincent's and patting it. "I don't even understand the math. And  _no,_  Vincent, you can't explain that until everybody is sitting down with pie in front of them."

Vincent didn't look upset; he just nodded again, still smiling. "The goal is for each person to find their own card. They're all mixed up among the spots at the table. If you haven't found yours after you've turned over half - that would be five of them," he added, looking at Beth, "the game is over and we've all lost."

"How the hell are you supposed to do that?" Sarah poked at the forks at her spot, looking longingly at the pecan pie. "The odds are totally against us. Can't we just  _eat?"_

"No," Kurt said, crossing his arms. "Consider this exercise before the last course."

"Fine," Sarah muttered. "But Noah has to tell me how to win. Come on, dude, you're the math genius."

Puck was startled, and stammered out a weak answer. "Uh... well, it's not a winning thing, right, 'cause we're all trying to do it together...?"

"You start by looking at your own spot," said Ruth. The table fell silent, everyone looking at her. She had barely said two words the whole night, but even though she looked exhausted, her eyes were clear. She nodded at Vincent. "And then, if you don't find your own name, you look at the spot of the person whose name you found. Right?"

Vincent was beaming. "Yes! See, the way it works is -"

" _After_  pie," Kurt insisted, tugging his arm. "Come on, everybody into the family room. Beth, honey, you want to go first?"

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for each of them to go in and try the strategy Ruth had suggested. The exclamations of surprise each time someone found their own name were encouraging, and even Burt was grinning when he came back into the family room, rubbing his head. "I'll be damned," he said.

Dave approached Puck's Ma and smiled at her curiously. "How did you know how it worked?"

She looked a little perplexed herself. "I'm not really sure, actually. I think I must have read it somewhere. Don't they usually do this problem with lockers?" She shrugged. "Anyway. I like logic puzzles."

Dave nodded. He wasn't so surprised. Puck's little piece of genius had to come from somewhere, after all.

It was kind of amazing that they were all able to find their own names, but everybody looked a lot happier once they were back in their own seats and Finn was slicing the pie.

"Okay, I'm totally not interested in all the details," Sarah demanded, pointing her fork at Vincent, her mouth full of apples, "but you have to tell me why that didn't fail miserably. Weren't the odds, like, way high against that happening?"

"Yes," Vincent said. "They were. If you picked at random, the chance would have been about one in a thousand. Using the strategy, it still wasn't better than about one in three. We were lucky that it worked the first time."

"Uh, no, sweetheart," Kurt murmured, patting his hand, " _you're_  lucky."

Dave imagined how annoyed everybody would have been if they had to do this three or even five times, and nodded. Vincent was, of course, oblivious, and went on with his explanation.

"The thing is, when you do it that way, you sort of coordinate everybody's picks. So either it works, or it doesn't - that all depends on how the cards got shuffled in the first place - but if you get a good draw, it works for everybody." He looked at Puck. "Think of it as a permutation. You know how you can decompose them into cycles? If they're all short enough, it works, and the chance of that comes out to about 30%." He smiled. "The first time I saw this problem I had to sit down and count all the different possibilities before I would believe it."

"Of course you did," Kurt said, and kissed him on the cheek.

Mr. Hummel brought out a fresh pot of coffee and made a cup of hot chocolate for Beth while they ate. Shelby and Puck whispered about something, but this time it didn't sound so bad, and when they were done, she caught Dave's eye and gave him a friendly nod. He nodded back, guessing it might have something to do with moving in together. Whatever it was, he'd take a little good will from Shelby.

"Did I tell you about the cake puzzle?" Vincent grinned at Dave.

Kurt rolled his eyes a little bit, but he was smiling, too. "Everything's a math problem to him," he said, shaking his head. "I'm more excited about eating it."

"Can't we do both?" asked Dave. "This is really good."

"Yes." Vincent smiled again. "This is a cake problem, anyway. A square cake. Nothing at all to do with pie."

Puck and Dave looked at each other. Dave sighed, but he had to admit he'd almost giggled. "He's always like that, sorry," he told Puck. "I thought he might have grown out of it, but...constant puns, all the time."

Vincent snorted. "Okay, sorry. Anyway, you haven't heard it? So there's a grandmother, and she's baked a square cake, right? Chocolate. Not that that really matters, I think. Could be carrot cake. I like that better. And pumpkin pie." Kurt noticed him looking at the one on the table and pushed it in his direction. Vincent smiled and transferred a slice of it to his plate before he continued. "Anyway, she's got a square cake, nine by nine inches, and nine grandchildren, and she wants to divide it fairly between them. So how does she do that?" He drew a square in the air.

Puck stared at him. "Is this a trick question?"

"No," Vincent answered. "Hang on, it gets harder."

Dave didn't think Beth had been paying attention to their conversation, but he noticed her following Vincent with her eyes. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked her. "I could use some help here, and your dad doesn't seem to be taking this very seriously."

Beth looked a bit shy, but finally she upended the sugar bowl on the table. With her finger, she drew lines across it to make a grid, like a tic tac toe board. "Like that," she said, looking up at Dave for confirmation. He nodded.

"That's a good one. I was going to say nine one-inch strips, but I don't think they'd fit on a plate very well, so yours is better." He turned to Vincent. "We have our answer. Three inch squares. Is that acceptable?"

"Perfect." Vincent grinned again, and Dave thought the anticipation he was directing at Beth was a little worrisome. "You can't recruit her for research yet," he told him. "She's only in second grade."

"That's fine. I'm sure you and Puck will train her well, and I'll just try again in...ten years or so." He glanced speculatively at Sarah. "How about you? Any ideas about what what you might want to do in college?"

Dave and Sarah both laughed, but Puck looked suddenly serious. Dave put a hand on his thigh under the table. He didn't want Puck to get stuck in thinking about big things right now. "So, we solved that one, but I think you said you had a harder question?"

Vincent blinked and nodded. "Oh. Right, so she's divided the cake in nine equal pieces, but the kids aren't quite happy, because they all love chocolate frosting. And this way, some of them get a lot more than the others, because the cake is covered on top, and the sides, but not the bottom. Like a normal cake." He paused. "So how do you split it in nine so that everybody gets the same amount of cake  _and_  frosting?"

Dave and Puck both went very quiet. "What if..." Puck started, but then he stopped. They both thought about it while Vincent grinned smugly at them.

To Dave's surprise, Sarah was the first to offer a suggestion. "Can't they just scrape it all off and split it that way, if it needs to be so perfectly fair?" she asked.

"Oh, I see. Well, that would work, but we're looking for the more elegant solution, so, no."

Sarah scowled. "It would work."

Vincent shook his head. "Maybe you should think about engineering, or something. Or even physics. Puck, you have any ideas?"

"Yeah, but they're all really complicated and none of them work so far." Puck took another bite of his pie. "I don't think anything that requires calculus should be the answer to cutting up cake."

"I'll give you a hint," Vincent said. "No calculus, and only straight lines."

"Can you use a ruler?" asked Dave. "Or a measuring tape or something?"

"Sure. Ruler and knife." The hint didn't seem to help, though, and they all ate more pie and listened to the conversations around them, which seemed to involve a lot less math. Dave thought maybe Vincent's permutation group party game had scared a few of them off for good, but nobody seemed too grumpy.

Puck finished his slice of mince pie, which Dave personally thought was disgusting, but he wasn't going to judge anybody's choice of desserts, and it was traditional at Thanksgiving. He put down his spoon with a loud click. "I give up," he told Vincent. "I'm sorry, I'm not going to get this and it's going to drive me crazy, so can you please just tell us?"

"All right. Everybody else okay with that?"

"Yes," Dave sighed. "Please."

"Okay. So, you find the center of the cake, and then you measure out equal lengths along the edge...in this case, that would be four inches. And then you cut slices from the middle like you would with a circular one."

"Wait...yeah, okay. Of course. Triangles." Puck groaned. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's the first question, I think. It makes you think about squares, and then you get stuck there, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Dave was familiar with how that worked. "Okay, I admit it, that was a pretty good one."

"Thank you," Vincent said, grinning. "I'll try to quit while I'm ahead, then. No more math problems today."

Kurt mumbled something that Dave didn't quite catch involving what else he might not get today, but the look he gave his boyfriend was definitely more loving than annoyed. And he apparently managed to hang on to his good mood through clearing the table, because he approached Puck and Dave later with another hug, this time for both of them.

"I think the romantic comedy script I'm reading has turned my brain," Kurt said, "because I'm feeling particularly emotional right now, but... I'm so happy for you two."

"News travels fast in the Hudmel house," Puck said, but he was smiling. "How about you and Vincent? Everything seems to be moving along there, too."

"He's my kind of scum: fearless and inventive," Kurt agreed. "So what if he can't cook? He wrote me a palindromic sonnet for my birthday. What could top that?"

Dave thought it might be tempting fate to ask that question, but he just grinned. "I'm glad he didn't piss your dad off too much with that math puzzle."

Kurt waved him off. "My dad, pissed off, is equivalent to anyone else's dad beaming with pride. Speaking of, I suspect there might be more football on the television, if your brain isn't entirely saturated with pie and math. Come grab some couch space while the grabbing's good."

While Mrs. Hudson, Puck's Ma and Finn finished cleaning up the kitchen, Beth - who couldn't sit still for very long - lured Puck and Sarah into the front yard for some sparring. Dave alternated watching the Turkey Bowl and gazing out the window at his boyfriend helping his sister and his daughter with their roundhouse kicks. He heard Kurt sigh quietly in the love seat beside him, where he and Vincent sat together, holding hands.

Mr. Hummel didn't shift his own eyes from the television. "Things sure have changed since high school, huh, David?"

"Um, yes, sir," Dave agreed, startled. "They really have."

"I got my fill of titles in congress, son. Call me Burt." He nodded at the window. "You two weren't even friends back then, were you? You and Puck."

A memory of Puck in high school, coated with blue slushie, flashed through his mind just moments apart from an earlier memory of middle-school Puck, kneeling half-naked on top of him in Finn Hudson's guest bedroom. "No. Not friends. He... he was always important to me, though, long before I could admit to myself why that was."

"Huh." Burt did turn and smile at him now, and his eyes were exactly like Kurt's. "Is that right?"

"Yeah," Dave nodded.

"You just thought he was hot," said Kurt with a grin.

Dave felt warm and drowsy with turkey and pie and good company, so much that he didn't even resist Kurt's teasing. "I did," he agreed, "but that wasn't all it was. Puck kept a lot of things hidden, even back then, but I guess I could see the kind of guy he was, underneath."

Burt nodded, returning to the television. "Sounds a lot like what Kurt told me a couple years ago, when he explained how you two had become friends." He settled back against the couch. "You overcame a lot of hard stuff to become who you are now."

"Everybody has flaws, Dad," Kurt said. He leaned against Vincent, who Dave realized had fallen asleep. "They're not enough to keep us from deserving love. Maybe we even need them, to be who we are."

"Way too complicated for Turkey Day, Kurt," Burt growled. "You and your boyfriend both, I swear. Can't we just relax and enjoy what we've got?"

Out in the yard, Puck paused in mid-kick, explaining something to Sarah. When he caught Dave's eye through the window, his smile grew soft, and Dave found himself smiling back. "Sounds good to me," he said.

* * *

**Dinner math notes, courtesy Penthea**

Place cards:

The game Vincent gets everybody to play is a variation of a problem that usually involves lockers, or boxes, and often prisoners. People with a math background can go read an article about it here: [http](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[://](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[www](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[.](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[maths](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[.](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[tcd](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[.](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[ie](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[/~](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[onash](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[/](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[pity](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[_](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[the](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[_](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[prisoners](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[_](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[files](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[/](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[locker](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[-](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[problem](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[.](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf)[pdf](http://www.maths.tcd.ie/~onash/pity_the_prisoners_files/locker-problem.pdf), or look up permutations, orbits and cycles on Wikipedia.

For everybody else: If you keep looking in the spot of the person whose name you find, because there's a limited number of names, you will eventually come full circle and find yourself back where you started. So the question is really, how long will that take?

Most of the time, you're going to make it all the way around to your own name before you've turned over all the cards. The path you follow on the way forms what's called an orbit, or a cycle. When you use Vincent's strategy, all the players follow the orbits directed by the cards. They're all on the same paths, and if only the paths are short enough, they'll all make it around.

In this example, there are three cycles, and their lengths are 2, 4, and 4. Because everybody starts with their own spot, they know they're entering the right cycle, and in four moves they'll all make it around and find their name.

When you sort all the possible ways of placing 10 cards in 10 spots (10*9*8*7*6*5*4*3*1=3628800, so Vincent probably did his counting with a smaller number!) according to how long the longest cycle is, it turns out that about 30% of the time, there's no cycle longer than five, and this strategy wins the game.

That's a lot better than random guessing, which comes out to about 0.1% (multiplying the 50% chance that each person has, so for one person, it's ½, for both the first and the second, ½* ½ = ¼, three people ⅛, etc, until you get to 1/1024 for ten people).

Cake:

 

This is what the solution to the cake cutting problem looks like. Because every slice has the same amount of edge, they get equal amounts of frosting from the sides.

What's a little harder to see is that they also have the same area, meaning equal amounts of cake and top-of-cake frosting. This is true because the area of a triangle only depends on the length of its base, and its height, it doesn't matter how skewed it looks.

That takes care of the triangular pieces, but what about the corners? Looking at the bottom right corner, the dotted line divides the piece into two nice, easy-to-calculate triangles. Since the heights are all the same, and the sum of the two corner triangles' bases is still four inches, same as one simple triangular piece, the total area will be the same for those, too.


	18. Chapter 18

The boxes that filled the family room and the front hall were piled high enough that Dave had trouble finding Pascal in the morning, but once Dave made it into the kitchen and opened a can of tuna, he appeared as though by magic. He stared up at Dave with wide eyes, meowing.

"I know, buddy," he said, twisting the lid off the can and setting it on the counter. "It's going to be a little crowded here for a while, but you can handle it. It's just Puck. Remember, your boyfriend? And... one more, but I'm not sure you'll see much of her."

He spooned a little tuna into a bowl and set it on the floor, crouching down to pet Pascal's striped head. Pascal immediately began to purr, settling down on his haunches to munch.

"Yeah, that's it. See? Everything's going to be fine." He hesitated, then stood and reached into the cupboard for another bowl, into which he spooned another serving of tuna. This one he set on a chair. He clicked his tongue, without much hope of success.

"She's not going to come when you call," said Puck, picking his way over the stack of boxes next to the door. "She's a  _cat,_  not a dog."

"Yeah, well,  _my_  cat comes when I call." Dave nudged Pascal's bowl over to the side, and Pascal followed it with his nose. "Mostly. Sometimes."

"Control freak." Puck grinned, edging closer to Dave. Dave put a hand on his hip.

"Wiseass." He leaned in and kissed him. "You bringing any more boxes over today?"

"I think this is it, for a while. I mean, I've still got plenty of stuff at my Ma's, but she said there's no hurry. I think she's going to keep my room pretty much the way I left it for now." He took the teapot and filled it with water, setting it on the stove. There wasn't any question now of whether it was okay for Puck to make tea for Dave. He just did it.

"Today's a very special day for Pascal," said Dave. He sliced off a piece of bread, reaching around Puck to get the cottage cheese from the fridge. "It's his pi birthday."

"His what?" Puck took the bowl of tuna off the chair and set it on the floor in the hallway. It sat there, untouched, while he made his breakfast, but they both kept an eye on it.

"His pi birthday. He's 3.141 years old today." Dave smirked at Puck's expression. "Yeah, if I'd been paying closer attention to what time he'd been born, I could have calculated it to four decimal places, but this is good enough."

"God, you are such a dork," Puck said, his eyes shining. Dave was only a little embarrassed to hear the admiration in his voice. "And I think I might want to take you back upstairs now."

"Breakfast first," Dave suggested. He sipped his tea, then took a bite of his bread and cheese, sliding a book across the table toward Puck. "And one other thing."

They'd finished  _Mystery of the Aleph_  a few days before the end of the semester. Reading to Puck was far preferable than grading papers, but Dave had managed to get all those done, too. He was proud of all his students, but none had made him more proud than Puck. He'd insisted on putting Puck's exam, with  _100% - Great job!_ marked in Elliott's hand in big red strokes, on the fridge. Puck had rolled his eyes, but he hadn't taken it down.

"What is it?" Puck turned the book over and looked at the cover. " _Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid."_  He pronounced the first name  _go-del,_  and Dave didn't correct him.

"I was thinking we needed another book. Something else to read, now that the semester's over." He tapped the book. "This won the Pulitzer and the National Book Award for science. I've been wanting to read it since college. It's not really about math, but there's a lot of puzzles, and stuff about patterns and intelligence and symmetry, and..."

"It's perfect," Puck murmured, flipping open the cover. He glanced at Dave. "You... really don't mind reading it to me? 832 pages... that's a lot of words."

"No. Not at all. And, really, it's more your thing than mine. You can help me understand the complicated parts."

Puck snorted. "Whatever." He turned another page, inspecting a diagram. Dave took another bite of bread.

"We've got time," he said. "To read all the words we want."

Puck looked up with a little smile and seemed like he was about to answer when a flicker of movement in the hallway caught his eye. He nodded silently at the black shape crouched in front of the bowl of tuna.

"Guess she likes it," he said.

Dave reached out and took his hand. "Why wouldn't she? This is about as good as it gets. For cats, I mean."

"For cats. Yeah." Puck squeezed his fingers. "I wasn't sure if she'd make herself at home here, but I should have known it would be okay, considering how she feels about you."

"Yeah?" Dave couldn't resist. He leaned in, resting his elbow on the table, and smiled. "How... does she feel about me?"

"She trusts you," Puck said softly. "Like nobody else."

They watched Penumbra eat in silence. Eventually Pascal wandered over and sniffed the bowl from which she was eating her tuna. Dave held his breath as they touched noses. Penumbra's ears went flat to her head, but she didn't hiss, and she didn't run away from her bowl. Pascal circled her, smelling the smaller black cat.

"That's a good sign," Dave said. "He doesn't seem to mind sharing his territory."

"It's not the biggest house, but there should be room enough for two cats. And, uh, two guys." Puck squeezed his hand again. "If they're sleeping together."

"Which they totally are," agreed Dave. "But, yeah, we can figure it out. It doesn't have to be complicated."

Puck smiled suddenly. "Like the triangles and the cake. Sometimes there can be a simple solution. It doesn't always have to be the expected one."

Dave took his other hand. Now they were facing each other across the table, the cup of tea between them. "This was... definitely unexpected."

"Kind of." Puck licked his lips. "I mean, you were on my mind, on and off, since middle school. And then four months ago, I saw your name in the course directory, and... there was no way I wasn't going to take your class."

"You told me you didn't think it was me," Dave said, mildly outraged. "That it was some other Karofsky."

"Seriously, Dave?" His eyebrow went up. "No. I wanted to see you again. Like, a lot. I just never thought it would turn out like  _this."_

Dave had to agree. "I never thought I'd have  _anything_  like this." He paused. "Okay. So, there was this one day. In the hospital, right after... you probably remember. Kurt came to visit me. He was trying to cheer me up, I guess, and he asked me to imagine what things might look like, ten years from now. What I might be doing." Dave smiled a little, and looked down. "It was... me, coming home to my, uh. My partner. Hugging him, and... well, that was all, really."

"Yeah?" Puck was smiling back. His hands were holding Dave's so tight, Dave had to shift them a little to restore circulation. "Don't tell me that was the pinnacle of your fantasies."

"No - I mean, that's just it." Dave shook his head. "I was so angry about it, later, because... I couldn't imagine having  _that_. Like, there was no way I thought I deserved a boyfriend, or getting to live with him, or being that happy. But Kurt made it sound like maybe I did. That maybe I could have that, someday. And...that lasted maybe ten minutes, and then I hated him for making me believe it for a while."

Puck thought about that for a moment. "Isn't that kind of backwards?" he asked. "Shouldn't you have been mad about  _not_  getting to have it?"

"Yeah, probably." Dave sighed. "But sometimes you can't see that, you know? So I just hated that he made me hope, because hoping made me want it more, and... I was so sure I shouldn't. It was just how it was, and being angry about it would be like getting mad at gravity when you crash your bike. You know there's no point."

Puck snorted. "I think I might have cursed gravity a few times when I fell off your damn bike."

"Yeah, okay." Dave squeezed Puck's hand. "Maybe you did. It's just that...some people would probably ignore that and say  _fuck the guy who told me I could do this_."

"You didn't make me do it," Puck said, wrinkling his brow. He let his hand dangle close to the floor, waiting while it quietly hung there. "You didn't crash the bike for me. Trust me, as much as I blamed you and everything else in that moment, it was my own stupid fault."

Edging around Pascal, Penumbra made her slinky way into the kitchen, darting under the table. She appeared under Puck's chair and sniffed his hand with her little black nose. He smiled in satisfaction, rubbing once under her chin before she skittered away.

"Sometimes at my Ma's, we'd go days without seeing her at all," he said. "So that's something."

Dave smiled, but he wasn't ready to let go of this conversation quite yet. "It's not always your fault, you know," he said. "I mean...things happen, and...sometimes it's nobody's fault, and sometimes it's yours, and sometimes the whole situation really was stacked against you in the first place? I think... it's okay, sometimes, not to take all the blame yourself."

Puck took a deep breath, considering this, and finally nodded. "Okay. I think I can believe that."

Dave got up from his chair and walked around the table with his plate and glass. He set them down next to the sink, and stood behind Puck's chair, hands resting on his shoulders. He looked down at Puck's plate. It looked like he'd taken maybe two bites of one piece of toast. "Aren't you going to eat that, babe?"

Puck leaned back, resting his head against Dave's stomach. "Not really hungry." He reached up and wrapped one hand around Dave's waist, pulling him closer. "Not for toast, anyway."

Dave rubbed his shoulders a little. "I like that idea. After you finish breakfast." He bent forward just enough to kiss the side of Puck's mouth. "I'll just clean this up while I wait, okay?"

Puck didn't answer, but he picked up his toast and started chewing with determination. Dave smiled from the sink. It wasn't hard to motivate him.

Just as he was finished rinsing the last dish, Puck stood up, leaned around him and placed his empty plate in Dave's hand. "All done."

Dave left the plate, unrinsed, in the sink. Then he turned around and put his arms around Puck's waist. "Perfect," he said. He was still smiling, feeling light and happy, but when he held his boyfriend like that and looked into his eyes, he couldn't laugh. Because he meant it, he was absolutely serious, that this was perfect, and his whole body was suddenly full of feelings that he couldn't explain any better than to say there were a lot of them.

He didn't know what else to say, what to do with any of it, so finally, after standing there for a second taking it in, Dave just kissed him. Hard, and a little desperate, trying to tell him all of it, how grateful and happy he was that by some miracle they'd made it here, but in the end, all that was probably getting through was  _want you_. Dave decided he was okay with that.

With his hands on Puck's hips, he walked them the two steps to the wall, and kept kissing him, pushing him up against it, wanting to take his breath away, not caring that he was losing his own. It was so good, and Puck was pushing back, moaning into his mouth and making Dave forget that he'd ever felt hopeless, powerless, that anything was ever not perfect.

He stopped at least three times, only to find Puck's face mere inches away, and each time he had to kiss him again. The final time, though, Puck was looking up at Dave, must have been slipping down the wall, and he was breathing unevenly, eyes wide open.

"Puck," he whispered, awed by it, and still wanting so much. "Babe. Come back to bed."

Puck nodded, and let Dave pull him away from the wall and lead him up the stairs to his - no,  _their_  - bedroom. A remote part of Dave wondered if this would ever feel ordinary to him, if he would ever get to a point where he didn't cherish every time Puck said  _yes._  It didn't seem likely.

But there was something different about the way it felt this morning. It wasn't until many long minutes later, when Puck was splayed on the bed before him, breathless now from exertion and release, and Dave was cradling him from behind, that he figured out what it was. When it came to him, it was like a revelation.

"This isn't going to end," Dave said. Puck turned his head a little, lazy and sated.

"Hmmm?" he asked.

Dave stroked his hand along the surface of Puck's shoulder, down his bicep to his forearm, feeling the sweat cooling, the strong muscles underneath.  _Mine,_  he thought, tightening his hand briefly. He tried to explain. "You - this - you're not going home in a few hours. Or a few days, or a few weeks. This - you're  _home._  Right here. You're staying here, with me."

Puck smiled. He still looked entirely relaxed, like this idea didn't scare him in the least. "Yeah. Home. That's pretty awesome."

It was, but Dave almost felt as though he'd been tempting fate by saying it like that. "And that's really what you want?"

"As often as you want it," said Puck, rolling toward Dave and kissing the nearest available skin, which happened to be his neck. He lay his head against Dave's shoulder. "To tell you the truth, it's felt like home here for a while now. I don't have a whole lot of attachment to my Ma's house. And all my stuff - well, that's just stuff. I don't really need any of it. I'm here because you're here."

"Yeah. And this is just a house." Dave put his hand on Puck's back, holding him close. "But I like it, and it's mine, and...now you're here, too." He sighed, relaxing into the soft bed, his and Puck's bed, and the sense of quiet happiness washing over him.

"Yeah." Puck settled against Dave's body, letting the sigh pull him closer. "Yours, too."


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the story follows Kiss Me I'm Drunk Don't Worry It's True, which takes place the summer after So Nothing's Left Unturned. If you don't want spoilers, you might consider reading that story first before reading this epilogue. Final notes at the end.

**Epilogue**

 

**the Thanksgiving cruise, about a year later**

The deck was still nearly empty by the time Dave finished his morning workout, but Kurt was there, seated comfortably in a lounge chair and gazing out over the placid water. He smiled at Dave as he approached and indicated the empty chair beside him with a gracious wave.

"Too sweaty to sit," Dave said, smiling back, but he did lean over for a kiss. "Vincent won't be here until we reach port at ten o'clock. You're not going to sit up here waiting for him the whole time, are you?"

Kurt shrugged elegantly. "We'll see. It beats fighting the crowds in the pool. Who would have thought a gay cruise would attract so many families with children?"

"More gay guys having kids." He carefully directed his gaze away from Kurt, at something on the prow or the stern or whatever the hell you called  _the edge of the boat._  "Maybe next year we'll bring Beth."

"Really." Kurt gave him an appraising look. "Awfully domestic of you, David. A far cry from karaoke and late night drinking and... most of the other activities we've been up to on this cruise?"

"I'm not the one who likes the karaoke." He gave in to Kurt's pointed glance at the chair again, and sat, wiping the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt. "And it's not like I don't enjoy the other activities, but - yeah, maybe I could stand a little more family time." He hesitated, eyeing Kurt's left hand, which bore the handsome titanium band Vincent had given him that summer. "For Puck. You know, if we're going to do this family thing for real."

Kurt nodded, a curious smile playing around his lips. "The two of you certainly seem to be heading in that direction. Two point four kids and a dog and everything. Whatever happened to  _I'm not ready for that?_ "

Dave guessed Beth could be the point four, considering she was only with them part time. The other two, well... "I don't know if I  _am_  ready for all of that. But I know who I want, and he's already got a kid. I can't do much other than roll with it." He shook his head, grinning. "And we're cat people."

Kurt crossed one leg over the other, surveying the bright sky. "So, what, am I looking at a late spring wedding, or are we going more traditional in June? Because, really, David, I can't plan anything worthwhile with less than six months in which to do it."

"Hey," Dave laughed, touching his thigh. "Slow down. I haven't even given him a ring." He paused, then added, "Although... well. I did have something.  _Not_  a wedding ring." He glared at Kurt's excited expression. "It's for... just because. Or maybe Hanukkah, or Christmas, I'm not sure yet. Or I guess our 'making it official because I can't get fired over this anymore' anniversary, but I think I'd rather go with just because."

Kurt nodded again, looking thoughtful. "I think that's a good choice. I told you about Vincent's anniversary drunk email from Barcelona? I don't think he meant for it to happen, and it was ultimately more charming than the original one, but...yes."

The mutual attraction between them overcame any aversion either one had to sweaty bodies touching, or maybe the air had dried Dave's skin sufficiently enough for Kurt not to care. Regardless, Dave spent the next five minutes explaining the mathematical meaning of the ring he'd chosen while Kurt leaned against him, his head resting on Dave's shoulder. Dave had another of those  _how the hell did I get this lucky_  moments before attempting to just relax and enjoy it.

"I'm happy for the two of you," Kurt said softly. "Really. The more time we spend together, the easier it is for me to see how much you compliment one another. He's just what you need."

"Tell me about it." Dave sighed. "But... this ring. What if he thinks it's stupid? Or really cheesy, or too geeky, or..."

Kurt laughed. "David, it is geeky. And cheesy. And this is Puck. The guy who got you mathematical flowers after you'd been dating for, what, two weeks?"

Dave let out a breath. "Yeah, you're right. I just... I love him, you know? And I want to do it right."

"David." Kurt kissed his cheek. "Even I know Puck well enough by now to believe that however you do it will be  _right_  for him." He leaned back, smiling, and took Dave's hand. "Come on. We still have a couple hours before my fiancé arrives. If you shower now, we can wake up Puck and still get to the restaurant before they stop serving those pancakes he likes so much."

* * *

**December**

It snowed enough to keep Dave from bothering to get the morning paper on Sunday. He was mildly irritated not to have his Sunday crossword with breakfast, but it wasn't the end of the world, partly because of Puck's Christmas gift of access to the Times puzzles online. Instead of hanging out on the couch with Pascal with a pen and a clipboard, he sat at the table with his laptop, filling in the boxes on his screen.

When Puck came downstairs later that morning, Dave had finished about half of it. Puck grinned, putting a hand on the frost-streaked window. "Holy shit, that's a lot of snow."

"Sure is," Dave agreed. Pascal wound around his legs, probably confused about where his usual Sunday morning lap had gone. Dave put a hand down and scratched him behind his ear.

Puck poured himself a glass of juice. "I'll go out and shovel the driveway after breakfast."

Dave started to say  _Hey, no, I'll take care of that, you don't have to worry about it._ But then he stopped, because this was Puck - and Puck really wanted to do stuff like that. For him. He hesitated only a moment before replying, "That would be great, babe. Thank you."

He could see Puck's smile out of the corner of his eye, watched him relax, and felt a flush of satisfaction. With one hand, he felt in the pocket of his robe, turning the little box over and over.

Puck nodded at the laptop, finishing his swallow of juice. "How is it doing the crosswords on the screen instead of by hand? You hating it?"

"No," Dave protested. He didn't, actually, even though he hadn't been at all sure before. "It's not bad at all. The interface is smooth." He rolled his eyes at Puck's smirk. "See, I can adapt."

Puck bent down and kissed his forehead. Dave could smell the orange juice. "You're fricking awesome."

He'd only just turned to walk away, probably to get dressed or something, when Dave reached up and grabbed his hand. "Hang on."

Puck turned back obligingly. His expression held nothing but curiosity and trust. Dave closed his laptop and took his hand out of his pocket. He set the little box on the table, and let the words stumble out of his mouth.

"I've had this for a couple weeks, and I wasn't sure when I should give it to you. Like, if it should be for Hanukkah, and if it was, if I should wait until the last day - only then I realized the last day had already happened, and I didn't want to wait another year, so..." He paused, seeing Puck's slack-mouthed stare.

"You got me a ring?"

It was hard to deny it, with the evidence right in front of them like that. Dave swallowed. "Yeah."

For once, he had no idea what Puck was thinking. Puck reached out and touched the box, jerking back a little as it moved, like it might just be lurking in there, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to open the box so it could leap onto his finger.

"It was the only algebraic structure they had. No groups or fields left, I guess." Puck just looked confused, and Dave couldn't blame him. "Sorry. That was the worst math joke ever. Anyway, yeah. It's a ring. I was going to get you one of those infinity things, like, shaped as an infinity symbol? But then I thought that's silly, it's just a circle. Or torus, or loop or - whatever it is a ring is. Topologically the same, anyway. And, uh."

Dave picked the hammered silver ring out of the box and held it between two fingers. "This kind of...looks like it's taken a few hits. But remember how we talked about continuity, and how there's always two points right across from each other on the circle that are exactly the same height? And, this... it's got a lot of random bumps, but it has all those points, you know? Infinite circles. Infinite pairs of...matching opposites."

Puck hadn't taken his eyes off the ring. "Infinite pairs, yeah. That's... that's awesome."

"So I thought this was all the infinity we needed, really." He took Puck's hand. "It doesn't have to, you know, mean any more than what we want it to. It just means that...things don't have to be big to have infinities in them."

Dave looked from his own hands, one holding a ring and the other holding Puck's warm hand, and up into Puck's eyes, searching for a sign that he got it, that he knew what Dave was talking about, asking for permission.

Puck opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so he shut it again. Finally he gave a little embarrassed laugh, glanced at his feet, and managed, "Well... I'm pretty much yours already. What's one more way?" Then he smiled, his face red, and added, "Yes. That was a yes."

"Yes?" Dave grinned back. It didn't even matter that he didn't know what Puck had said yes to, exactly, because he'd said  _yes_. He'd said  _yours_. Dave felt like he was burning up, his face must be as red as Puck's, and he wasn't sure if he could speak at all, but he had to ask. He swallowed. "So...uh, which finger?" The ring was sized to fit a ring finger, but it was just a guess anyway, and there were two hands, and he didn't want to assume anything.

Puck hesitated, then pointed to the fourth finger on his left hand. Maybe just because it was the one Dave was holding, and he didn't really know what it would mean, anyway, but then he didn't think Puck would, either.

His hands were a little shaky, but Dave managed to slide the ring on. Puck clutched at Dave's fingers, grasping him tight. His voice, when he spoke, came out hoarse.

"You can make all the jokes you want; you can say this isn't big. But it is. Nobody's taken a chance on me before, Dave. I've always been the one who's wasn't worth it, but... you make me feel like I'm  _worth something._ " He took a deep breath, meeting Dave's eyes with his clear hazel ones. "I want you to know it's worth everything to me, and... I'm telling you now, I'm gonna spend my whole life, making you happy. It's all I want to do."

Dave couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled Puck close to his chest. "You're worth it," he said, holding him tight. "Babe, you have no idea. I'm so lucky to have you." How could Puck not know that? But this was not the time to be mad at the world for not knowing how awesome his boyfriend was. He knew they'd find out soon enough, and for now, Dave had that amazing guy right here in his arms. He moved his hand up to the back of Puck's head and kissed him, hard.

"I love you," he whispered, a little breathless. "You make me happy just by...existing." He reached down to hold Puck's hand, and couldn't resist finding the edge of the ring - his ring - and following it with his finger. He smiled. "But, you know, thank you for wanting to do it with me. That's so much better."

"God, Dave," Puck said, laughing. He gripped his shoulder with his free hand, and squeezed their hands together. "Yeah, I want to do it with you. And that's totally not a come-on." His forehead leaned against Dave's. "What about Kurt?"

Dave paused, trying not to stiffen. "This isn't about him. It's about us."

"I know. I'm not trying to make it about anything else. I just want to make sure that I wouldn't be... I don't know. In the way, I guess." He gazed at the floor. "I want you to have everything you want."

"Yeah, I know." Dave took a deep breath. He knew Puck didn't mean to hurt him, and most of the time that was enough, and he could swallow down the way things kept right on hurting anyway. "I talked to Kurt, okay? He knows. He was really excited about it."

He leaned on Puck and sighed, trying to relax. Puck was just concerned, wanting everybody to be happy. It wasn't that this - that Dave wasn't important to him. It wasn't that he thought Dave was wrong to ask. Dave knew that, but the knot of doubt still wouldn't loosen.

Puck shrugged. "I'm glad to hear it. I guess I shouldn't be worried about him; he's married to Vincent, after all, and I don't feel bad about that." He glanced up anxiously. "You don't think this..." He held up the hand, wearing Dave's ring. "... that it's going to stand in the way of you being happy? Of getting what you want?"

"No. No, what... it's... Puck, I gave you that ring because that  _was_  what I wanted. And if you..." He took another deep breath, and blinked hard. "Kurt really says it's okay. And if you still..." Puck was starting to look a little blurry, and this was stupid, and he wasn't going to cry. "If you still mean it, if it's still a yes, then that's what I want. But if you're not sure..." He couldn't finish that, so he just stood very still, waiting. Just a few minutes ago, all Puck wanted was to make Dave happy - and really, what kind of selfish asshole had he been for thinking that was good, anyway.

"What the hell do you mean, if it's still a yes?" Puck shook his head, incredulous. "I said yes, didn't I? What, I'm going to suddenly decide  _wait, no, I don't want you_? I'm not going to do that."

Dave wrapped his arms tightly around him, and this time he couldn't hold back the tears. "I thought you didn't mean it anymore," he managed to choke out. "When you asked about Kurt, I know it's really stupid, but I thought you - you might want to take it back. Because of him. And it's not fair, because he's got Vincent, and he's happy, and...he's not even really your boyfriend. And I want to be fair to everybody. But I want you so much." He shouldn't be clinging to Puck like this, when Puck was the one who had been unsure. He tried to pull himself together, but it didn't really work, so he just held on.

"Babe..." Puck kissed him on the cheek, gently, and held his head close to his chest. "Hey. It's okay. I'm usually the one freaking out, and I guess everybody does that sometimes, huh?" He kissed the other cheek. "You want me. That's all I care about. You got me this  _ring._  You want me to... well, you're going to let me spend my life with you. Sorry, but if that makes Kurt unhappy, I think he's going to have to deal." He kissed Dave's lips, ducking his head to catch Dave's eyes. "Because this is what I want. And if it's what you want, too - that's pretty lucky, then, huh?"

"Yeah." Dave leaned in for another kiss. "That's really lucky." He stood there for a while, just holding Puck, feeling his warm solid body in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to freak out. That was...I don't know. I think sometimes I worry that I'm being a selfish asshole and you just don't notice, or something."

Puck was still holding on tight, and Dave felt the puff of breath on his skin more than he heard it. "Babe, I know more than I'd like about selfish assholes, okay?" Puck said. "You're not one of them."

"I hope you're right," Dave said. He loosened his grip enough to find Puck's hand and lift it up between them. He looked down at the ring. "Because you're way too special to marry some stupid jerk. I wouldn't let you."

Puck's mouth turned up into a small, crooked smile, and he leaned against Dave's chest again. "It's okay," he said. "This guy who asked me...you can trust him. He'll take good care of me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final author's note: This story was nine months in the making, from the day we generated plot ideas about a possible future Puck and Dave, to the last word we wrote this afternoon. We wrote much of it feverishly in the first few weeks, after which life got complicated, and the story with it. But even when it got hard to write, and it felt like more work than we could have possibly imagined it could be, my cowriter never gave up on these two boys. She stuck with it, because the words had to be right. The story wasn't always pleasant for Dave, but neither of us were going to stop until Dave had his happy ending - because he deserved it. Dave needs Puck, as much as Puck needs Dave. Thank you, Penthea, for the math, and the Cantor book, and for picking out a bike for Beth, and most of all for not giving up on Puck's impossible dream.
> 
> Thanks, also, to several people: Knittycat99, for convincing me I could write Dave, and without whom neither Gold Mine nor this story would have ever happened. Jason, for detailed reviews and unflagging loyal readership, even when the math got too complicated. Supergreak, likewise. Flinchflower, for patience (ahem) while the Dave/Puck plotbunnies grabbed me in the middle of other stories, and for giving me a model for Penumbra. And all of you readers, for sticking with us, even when Kurt horned in on their action, and when Dave and Puck took us to those dark, complicated places where fanfiction touches us in unexpected ways. I hope you have been changed by the experience. I know I have.
> 
> -amy


End file.
